Bad Medicine
by Cheryl Dyson
Summary: Draco Malfoy, paragon of wickedness, follows Hermione Granger one day to an unused section of Hogwarts and discovers her unspeakable secret... Oh yeah, and the whole graveyard scene didn't happen. Cedric Diggory is alive. Because I said so.
1. Chapter 1

Authors Note: I was absolutely not a Draco/Hermione shipper until I was bored one day and asked myself what Hermione would miss most from the Muggle world during her time at Hogwarts. This story exploded from that one idea.

This takes place right after The Goblet of Fire, but in this version Dumbledore dredged up some smarts and foiled Crouch Jr.'s plot, so Cedric is still alive and Voldemort is still Vapormort… (Hence the single reference to Cedric Diggory.)

**Bad Medicine **

**Chapter One**

Draco was bored. After listening to the dimwitted bickering of Crabbe and Goyle all morning, he considered turning them into something spineless and slimy in order to silence them. They were great for backup in a confrontation, but as conversationalists they left much to be desired. Rather than hex them, he yelled at them to bugger off for the afternoon and stalked off to be alone. Hogwarts was rife with places for solitary reflection, but today most of the prime spots were taken, largely due to the dreadful pouring rain outside.

The dungeon was even darker and gloomier than usual and Draco was already in a bad mood, so he took to the ever-changing stairs and headed for higher climes. A half hour of aimless wandering led him to a long, deserted corridor lined with huge gothic windows. He peered out of one and discovered a marvelous view of the lake, or it would have been if he could have seen more than a quarter of it due to the misty rain. Water poured down the glass in rivulets. He rested his forehead against the glass, feeling more than bored. He couldn't quite put a name to what he was feeling, but it wasn't good.

He pushed himself away from the window and noted several dark alcoves arranged along the opposite wall, interspersed with dark wooden doors that led who-knew-where? The alcoves had potential, as they were stuffed with large stone statues of various creatures. Directly across from him reared a huge lion, nearly triple life-size. Draco sneered. No Gryffindor lions for him today, thank you very much. He walked to the next alcove. A hippogriff. Screw that. Stupid beasts. The third statue was more promising. A manticore. Its human face growled from a lion-like mane and the stinger poised over its head looked ready to strike. Draco could relate. He gripped a leonine paw and hoisted himself up into the alcove. He slipped behind the creature and searched briefly for concealed doors, which were quite often hidden in alcoves around Hogwarts. If one existed here, it was too well concealed for a casual search and a quick _Alohomora_.

The scorpion-like tail was perfectly curled to provide a relaxing perch. Draco sat down and leaned his head and shoulders back against the curve of the tail. He twirled his wand and wondered if he should practice his Transfiguration spells for class tomorrow, but the required spells were ridiculously easy.

He tapped his wand idly against a thigh and looked beyond the statue's head to the long windows. He wished the bloody depressing rain would stop. He'd much rather be outside on his broom practicing Quidditch than moping here in an abandoned hallway.

Quick footsteps approached; perhaps not so abandoned. Draco sat up and flattened himself against the manticore's back. He peered out after making sure he was fully hidden in the shadows of the alcove.

The footsteps belonged to Hermione Granger. Draco sneered. Granger! What did _she_ want up here? A square wooden box _locomotored_ behind her, floating easily in her wake. He wondered what she was up to. Probably sneaking around on some errand or another for Potter or Weasley. He was actually surprised to see her alone. Normally the three of them clung together for protection like baby lemurs. The only time Granger was ever alone was when she was in the library with her face buried in a book. Likely her little trunk was full of books and she was looking for a private place to read.

She strode purposefully past Draco's hiding place without pausing and continued to a door two alcoves beyond his. She entered with her box and shut the door firmly. Draco waited to see if Potter and the Weasel would show up, but finally he climbed out of his alcove. He briefly regretted not hexing her when she walked by. She could have done with the tail of a jackass or ears of a fruit bat. He grinned and then grimaced; realizing if he'd hexed her she likely would have turned him into a sea slug or something worse. The little Mudblood was good with a wand, damn her to hell.

He walked quietly to the door through which she'd disappeared. He didn't sneak, because Malfoys did not sneak, but he did walk quietly enough that his footsteps would not be heard. He cast a whispered _Silencio_ on the door, though he hadn't heard it make any noise when Granger had opened it. He flipped the latch and peered inside.

He saw a huge, mostly dark room with a ceiling that seemed miles overhead. A single glass window in the ceiling admitted sparse light in a square pattern on the center of the empty floor. The room looked devoid of both furnishings and occupants.

He slipped inside and let the door shut silently behind him. He wondered if another door exited the room. Likely, since Granger had disappeared. He was about to cross the room when a strange cacophony made him clap his hands to his ears.

What in hell was that strange racket? He nearly asked the question aloud and was glad he did not when Hermione stepped into the square of light. He shrank back instinctively, but it was far too dark near the door for her to notice him.

After that brief moment of panic, he froze and frankly gaped at her, as staggered as if she had Stunned him with her wand.

What the hell was she _wearing_? Gone were the voluminous school robes and stuffy white shirt, the knee-high socks and clunky saddle shoes. Her feet were bare. Her legs were encased in black – well what the hell were those, anyway? It looked like she had dipped her legs into black paint, as they seemed to have a shiny texture and clung to her skin in all places. Her midriff was indecently bare, as were her upper arms. The top she wore was black and the tiny straps that held it over her shoulders only emphasized that Miss Granger had blossomed quite spectacularly over the past few months. Who would have guessed she was hiding _those_ beneath her robes? Bizarrely, she still wore the Gryffindor tie knotted loosely around her neck. It dangled becomingly between the breasts he had just discovered she possessed.

He touched his tongue to suddenly dry lips and tried to remember to breathe. His brain could not quite accept this new material: the profoundly unexpected revelation that Hermione Granger, Mudblood, show-off, know-it-all, and all-around general annoyance, was stunning. Her waist was trim and defined, her legs were sculpted visions of perfection and… he had to admit… her face had lost all hint of childish puffiness and had become… oh damn it all… she was actually _pretty_. Even her hair had lost much of the untamable curl and now it looped rather becomingly over her bare shoulders and down her back.

He fumbled for the door handle behind him. He needed to escape. He had to burn the image from his mind as soon as possible. He would get Goyle to cast a Memory Charm on him!

And then Hermione began to move. The sounds seemed to be some sort of music and she flitted sideways in rhythm to the noise. There was a lot of thumping involved and Granger's hips shifted appealingly each time a beat descended. Her shoulders shook and her hands rose into the air. The tempo increased and Hermione spun and gyrated more and more wildly. Her hands were in the air and her feet moved in a blur. She seemed to be singing, although Draco could not hear over the music and it did not have recognizable words.

He watched for an interminable time, not realizing his hand still rested on the latch. His throat was dry and he felt an unmistakable heat rising from his loins. He had the sudden urge to stalk into the light and grab her. She would stare at him in shock, eyes wide and possibly frightened. Her hair would be in disarray and her chest would be heaving from exertion. Her lips would be wet and—

Draco turned the latch and bolted from the room, not caring if she heard. He raced down the corridor past the weeping windows and fled down the stairs. Only when he was safely in the Slytherin common room did he halt, panting from the exertion.

"Cor!" Goyle commented from his usual position on the couch before the fire. "Where ya been, Draco? Someone chasin' ya?"

Draco stared at him, amazed that he had even considered for a moment letting Goyle cast a Memory Charm on him. The baboon would likely fry his brain like an egg. What the hell had he been thinking? He remembered. Fricking _Granger_. Spinning in a darkened room and looking like an angel from hell. What did they call those? A succubus. He shook off the image. It wouldn't do to be having lustful thoughts about _Hermione Granger_. It simply wouldn't do.

He looked around briefly for Pansy Parkinson, but the thought of groping her did nothing for him at the moment. Her breasts were like two tangerines in comparison to—

"I have a headache," Draco choked. "I'm going to lie down for a moment."

That, however, turned out to be the worst thing he could do. He tossed and turned upon his blankets and tried in vain to think about the most boring things imaginable: Herbology, playing Quidditch against Hufflepuff, History of Magic class, flubberworms. Nothing worked. His mind returned again and again to the Gryffindor Mudblood dancing to her strange Muggle music.

ooOoo

Hermione cast a _Scourgify_ on herself to remove the sweat and clean her clothing. It was a painful process, but she did not have the time to sink into a leisurely bath. She was supposed to meet Harry and Ron in time for supper. She sighed happily as she slipped on her school robes and tucked her exercise clothing away in the corner near the phonograph machine. She had stumbled across the ancient phonograph during one of their wrong turns and had smuggled it to this unused room in a forgotten wing. On her last trip home, she had gone to secondhand stores and picked up as many old records as she could find. Of all the Muggle things she missed while at school, modern music was high on the list. At the top of the list was her computer, of course, and then telephones, but electronic devices simply would not work at Hogwarts.

The old crank phonograph, however, was not electronic. It played the old 70's and 80's vinyl just fine. Someone must have dumped their entire 80s collection, for she had found Van Halen, Def Leppard, Billy Squier, Queen, and Pat Benatar. Today she had listened to Guns N' Roses, which wasn't her favorite, but "Sweet Child of Mine" had a great beat for dancing.

She had discovered the life of a wizard was not exactly conducive to a svelte figure, what with the butterbeer, and pumpkin pasties, and sweets stolen from the kitchen by Ron at every opportunity. When she'd returned home for the summer, she'd felt horrendously fat, a feeling confirmed by the bathroom scale. She had vowed to eat fewer sweets and exercise more, but the girls in her common room thought exercise was a Muggle curiosity. They stayed slender by the application of various spells and potions, a practice Hermione was certain could not be healthy. Therefore, she exercised in secret, and dancing allowed her to indulge in her love of Muggle music.

She smoothed her robes over her hips and smiled. The regime was working perfectly. She felt great. She checked her wardrobe again and left the room and its secrets behind.

ooOoo

Draco noticed immediately when Hermione entered the Great Hall for supper, although he wished he hadn't. She was back to her normal style of dress, thank God. White shirt buttoned high on her neck. Knee socks properly tugged to knees. Ugly shoes on dainty feet. Robes covering all slender assets. Tie correctly knotted and tucked into the nasty Gryffindor jumper instead of dangling temptingly over swelling, heaving—

Draco suddenly became very interested in his plate of food, although whatever he ate suddenly tasted like sawdust. He tried not to notice as Hermione wedged herself between Harry and Ron and beamed at them. They paid her no mind whatsoever, as they were apparently involved in some heated conversation with Seamus Finnigan. She shrugged and began to eat.

Draco studiously ignored her for the rest of the meal and satisfied himself with a running commentary of insults about the neighboring Ravenclaws that had the Slytherin table roaring with laughter by the end of the meal. When several of the Ravenclaws began fingering their wands and glaring at him, he figured his work was done and retired for the evening.

A quick glance at the Gryffindor table showed the Lemur Trio already gone. He breathed a sigh of relief at having not even noticed her leave.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: I had to cut the lyrics out of this story for but I think it's better with… go read it on Fiction Alley if you want the original version!

Chapter Two

He had completely forgotten about Potions class. Not the class itself, of course, just the fact that Hermione Granger sat directly across the aisle from him. He had noticed this fact with annoyance on several occasions, namely whenever her potions sparkled just a bit more brightly than his, or shone with more perfect effervescence, which was usually. But he had never, _ever_ before noticed that when she sat down, her school robes gaped open to reveal the pleated black skirt that nearly covered her knees, except when she crossed her legs in that particular way, and caused the skirt to slide dangerously up her thigh and expose far more flesh than he would have expected to see from the bookish Miss Granger.

Professor Snape, thank God, was his usual snakelike bundle of joy and he was in the mood to stride around the room and bang his wand on various cauldrons while hissing threats and deducting points from the Gryffindors, so Draco was gratefully distracted from his unworthy neighbor. The assigned potion was devilishly tricky, also, so Draco concentrated with all his being on measuring exactly the correct amount of powered horklump into his cauldron with the tiny silver spoon. All was going quite well until Weasley's pickled dugbog slipped through his fingers and onto the floor near Draco's feet.

Hermione sighed and reached for it. Draco's eyes met hers for one startled moment and he instinctively kicked the dugbog toward the front of the room. He did not want her to touch him in any fashion, even accidentally. She glared at him as she got out of her seat.

"You're an ass, Malfoy," she hissed. He grinned lazily and watched as she quickly snatched up the dugbog.

"Why are you out of your seat, Miss Granger?" Snape asked nastily.

"I dropped—"she began.

"I think she was spying on Blaise's potion, Professor," Draco volunteered casually.

Hermione spun and gave him such a venomous look that Draco nearly laughed aloud. She wasn't nearly so pretty when she looked as if she could flay the skin from his bones with her bare hands.

"Really? Twenty points from Gryffindor. Stay in your seat, Miss Granger."

Hermione threw herself into her seat and gave the dugbog back to Ron, who looked at her in apology. Her jaw was set and her lips were nearly white. She threw a last scathing glare at Draco, who smirked. He had always enjoyed tormenting Granger, but now it was personal. He needed to get even with her for causing him to think of her in that way. Her rage was like a balm to his soul and he reveled in the routine sameness of it. He hated her; she hated him. All was well.

She flounced out of the room after class and the other two lemurs followed her. Both of them shot angry glares in Draco's direction, but as usual they were both too spineless to start anything in Snape's presence. Draco left at his leisure.

Afternoon once again found him sitting in the Slytherin common room watching Crabbe and Goyle play a gruelingly dull game of knucklebones. They didn't even bother to keep score because neither of them was particularly good with numbers. Pansy Parkinson had snuggled under Draco's arm and dozed off. Warrington and Montague were practicing some spell or other with their wands, which kept giving off an irritating pinkish glow.

Draco found his mind wandering. He wondered if the view of the lake from the deserted corridor was any better today. Perhaps the rain had lessened. He absently wiped the sweat from his palms and shifted the sleeping Pansy aside. His interest was purely scenic. He had no intention of looking into any dark rooms, occupied or otherwise. In fact, the long corridor would be the perfect place to practice some spells without interruption. He'd been trying to extend the range of his flame spell. So far he could only ignite things from a three-foot distance. He would need to extend that to at least ten or twelve feet in order to use it on Potter or Weasley. Or Granger.

In short order, he found himself walking the corridor. He made himself look out the window to find the view fairly identical to the previous day. Wet and gloomy. He made a few cursory passes with the flame spell, muttering the spell under his breath to make as little sound as possible. His heart simply wasn't in it and he gave it up shortly. Before he could stop himself, he had pressed his ear to the door. The door he swore he would not open under any circumstances. He heard nothing and sighed. It was a sigh of relief, he told himself quickly. The room was empty. In fact, would it not be better to practice his spells inside, where no one would interrupt him?

So deciding, he opened the door and stepped inside. After a breathless moment, he realized the room really was deserted. He walked inside and cast a _Lumos_. An old phonograph stood on a rickety table in one corner. Next to it was the box Hermione had brought in the previous day. It was full of large squares. He lifted one and a black disc slid halfway from the covering. Phono disks, he figured. He looked at the picture on the front and found it extraordinarily bizarre. There was a photo of four men with a huge amount of curly hair, but none of them moved. They seemed frozen.

Draco examined a few others. None of the photos moved at all and the names on the albums were unfamiliar. Pat Benatar. Billy Idol. U2. Bon Jovi. He dropped the strange phonographs and turned to leave, but motion caught his attention. The door was opening! He doused his wand and crept quickly toward a corner of the room, away from the phono player.

Hermione walked purposefully into the light. Her wand was lit, but thankfully it was a dim glow and she paid no attention to anything but the phono player. She plucked a black disc from the pile Draco had examined and placed one on the machine. Then she tucked away her wand and removed her robes. She folded them and put them on the floor next to the machine. She wore the same black leggings as yesterday with a white shirt. Draco held his breath as she peeled the shirt off and tossed it on her robe. No tie today, he noticed, but the form fitting top was in place.

She kicked off her shoes and began to crank the machine. When it spun vigorously, she placed the needle. After a scratchy moment, loud, squealing noise came from the thing, nearly causing Draco to cringe. Hermione walked to the center of the dimly lit square again. Once more, she began to dance. This time, Draco could actually make out words and he found himself tapping a toe to the pervasive beat.

Hermione sang along and he was pleased to note that she had a simply dreadful voice. Her dancing, however, was spellbinding. Her hair was a spinning curtain today and she looked like a lioness on the prowl. At one point she threw her head back and her hands caressed her hips and trailed up higher and higher to rest near her breasts before she flung her head down and arms out. Draco fairly gaped.

Draco's brow raised at the lyrics. He could picture her kissing him goodbye. Right before she hit him with an _Avada Kedavra_. He smiled and watched. To his glee, she played the song again, as he was rather beginning to like it. A couple of other songs followed and she danced until she was dripping with sweat. She gathered up her things and threw her robe over all. She went out without ceremony and Draco figured she was on her way to slip into a hot bath. The idea made him swallow hard and he realized he didn't really need that image to haunt him all night long.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Watching Hermione became Draco's new habit. Every afternoon he would drift up to the deserted hallway. Sometimes she would be there and sometimes not. If not, Draco would return to the Slytherin common room and bully Crabbe and Goyle mercilessly, unable to explain his vicious mood. Once she very nearly caught him. He was ambling down the windowed corridor and heard her footsteps behind him. He threw himself into the lion alcove and snatched himself behind the statue, banging his knee sharply in the process. He bit down on a curse as she walked past. It was a miracle she hadn't heard him.

Cursing her for the pain in his knee, he very nearly did not slip into the room to watch her, but the siren song was too strong. Luckily for him, her routine was sporadic or his friends would have begun to suspect his disappearances. Draco wondered how Granger was explaining her absence to the other two lemurs, but then he noticed her workouts often coincided with the Gryffindor Quidditch practice sessions, which made it far easier to plan his spying missions.

The three Draco referred to as The Lemur Trio were in the library pouring over their Astronomy homework.

Hermione looked up from the dusty tome she was reading: Goblin Hygiene – Where Did It Go Wrong? She chanced to see Draco across the library. He was looking at her with that infuriating half-smirk of his. She gave him a halfhearted glare. His smirk curled into an actual smile, but his eyes did not sparkle with the pure hatred she normally caught from him. Instead, he looked at her as though he shared a secret – as if he knew something wicked about her.

She flushed suddenly, thinking about her workout sessions. He couldn't possibly know about that! She calmed her momentary panic with stark rationalization. If Draco did know her secret, he would have the entire Slytherin house ridiculing her. He would probably have buttons printed that mocked her!

She glanced at him again to find him still watching her through half-closed eyes. No, it was more likely he was plotting something.

"Draco is up to something," she said to Ron, who sat across the table from her. "Don't turn around!" she hissed. Ron perked up; far more interested in a potential Malfoy plot than the homework he studied.

"Why do you say that?" he asked mildly. Harry, next to Ron, sneaked a glance at Malfoy and looked at her questioningly. Draco had been remarkably absent lately, but for the usual battering of insults on the Quidditch field, he mentioned.

"He's always watching me," Hermione admitted. "He has to be plotting something."

"Maybe the git's finally noticed you're a girl," Ron offered. "After all, it's hard not to spot those gargantuan melons you sprouted over the summer," he continued and jerked a thumb at her chest. Harry coughed to cover a laugh.

"Ron!" she gasped and her cheeks burned. "They are _not_ gargantuan!"

"Well, they're pretty damn noticeable, 'specially when you wear that fuzzy blue jumper of yours—"

"This one?" she asked archly and yanked open the neck of her robes to reveal her chest encased in the soft blue material.

"Cor, Hermione!" Ron choked loudly. "Warn a guy before you level those cannons at him! I'm like to have a heart attack!"

Hermione had to giggle. "Honestly, Ronald—" she began, but stopped when a chance gaze at Draco revealed he no longer smiled at her. In fact, he sat rigidly in his chair and glared at her so venomously it nearly took her breath away. As she watched, he stood and stalked from the room. She bit her lip as he disappeared through the doorway. He was acting so strangely. She would have to keep an eye on him.

Draco stormed out into the hallway. He fairly seethed with rage. He took out his wand and considered casting _Incendio_ on a nearby suit of armor. Instead, he hit it with a shrinking spell and felt barely a glimmer of satisfaction when it popped down to the size of a coin. It wasn't enough. He needed to destroy something. He needed to destroy _Weasley_.

Blast it all; what was affecting him like this? He was acting like an idiot. It was just when Hermione had flashed her chest at Weasley, Draco had suddenly felt like casting a _Cruciatus_ curse at him.

What the hell was wrong with him? What did he care if the damned mudblood showed her goods to the lemurs? What did he care if she _slept_ with them both? In rotation or together? He didn't care! He took a number of steadying breaths and headed for the front door. He needed some air.

"Draco!" Pansy called from behind him, but he didn't turn back.

Hermione watched Draco more closely after that and was quite surprised at how often he was near and how often his eyes were upon her. At first, she thought he must be watching Harry or Ron in order to plan some malice, but he often turned up in the library when she was there alone. At those times, he would always pause to recommend a book to her, such as Muggle Scum and Why They Should be Exterminated or Fifty Ways to Cook Muggleborn, so he was never particularly out of character.

However, she would find him watching her when she was in the courtyard, or outside near the lake, or on her way to class. It was damned disconcerting.

Once she, Ron and Harry were lying on the grass studying the uses of wax plant and vervain for Herbology. The day was unseasonably warm and all the students had discarded their school robes and lounged casually in shirtsleeves. Hermione removed her tie and unbuttoned the top buttons of her blouse when a welcome breeze sprang up. She felt eyes upon her and looked up quickly to see Draco leaning against a nearby tree. His Slytherin pack was nowhere in sight. He was not smirking, nor did his eyes glow with ephemeral hatred. Instead, he stared at her with such an intense look that it took her breath away.

She felt heat explode instantly from her chest to her face. She looked down in confusion. When she looked up again, he was striding away.

"He did _not_ just look at me like that," she muttered. She had to have imagined it. Draco Malfoy would never look at her with anything even remotely akin to lust. It was impossible.

The worst of it was, once she started to consider it, she began to wonder if it really was impossible. She bumped into him once in a crowded corridor and their eyes met for a surprised moment. His grey eyes were fathomless pools and the heat of his arm burned into hers where they touched.

"Watch it, filthy mudblood," he said, but his voice was a bare whisper that caressed rather than cut her.

She bolted for the bathroom and was actually late for class while she regained her composure. Ron looked at her askance when she finally made it to her seat.

"Not feeling well," she said vaguely. Harry and Ron shot worried looks at her throughout the remainder of the class and by the end of it, she really did feel ill.

How could she possibly feel attracted to _Malfoy_? It was absurd. The fact that he was blindingly handsome did not make up for the fact that he was evil through and through. Well not blindingly handsome, surely that was overstating it. Stunningly handsome, perhaps, or painfully handsome. After conjuring and discarding a number of adjectives, she admonished herself for wasting time trying to quantify Malfoy's attractiveness. Why was she thinking about him _at all_? She would cease immediately.

The next day she walked though a cloister aisle and her eyes were instantly drawn to Malfoy as he sat upon a stone railing with his back against a column pier. (_extremely handsome, damn it all_) He watched Crabbe and Goyle as they tormented a much smaller third-year boy. Malfoy was grinning. Hermione's blood suddenly boiled and she marched into the garth to confront Crabbe, whose fist was twisted in the collar of the boy who struggled to escape.

"Why can't you pick on someone your own size?" she yelled. "Like a black rhino or a mountain troll?"  
Crabbe and Goyle, as usual, looked straight to Draco, who hopped lightly from his perch and sauntered over to her.

"Why don't you try keeping your dirty little Gryffindor nose out of our business, mudblood?" he asked mildly.

She stared at him venomously. He was gorgeous, she admitted to herself. The sun on his pale hair made it look almost white and a lock of it had dropped sensuously over his smooth forehead. His chiseled features were that of a Greek god and he moved with the lithe grace of a stalking panther. _Devastatingly_ _handsome_, she thought, unable to stop herself.

His silver eyes were unreadable. He suddenly reminded her of a hunting wolf. Beautiful and deadly. He would strike her down without a thought and leave her savaged with no remorse. She felt a weight lift from her chest.

"Thank you, Malfoy," she said with a small smile. His expression became guarded.

"What for?"

"For reminding me how much I _hate_ you," she said brightly. At that, she turned and marched away without noticing the third-year still trapped in Crabbe's grip.

Draco watched her leave and scowled. He looked at Crabbe, who shook the boy once more.

"Let him go. Granger probably hurried off to get Dragonogall," he said, though he doubted his own words. He pondered Hermione's. What had she meant by that? He remembered the way she had looked at him in the corridor earlier. Shocked and… what?

He sighed. Whatever it had been, it was gone now. Her expression was the same disdainful hatred she had displayed right before she punched him in their third year. He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully at the memory. He still owed her for that.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Draco was keyed up after Quidditch practice later that afternoon. It had been a perfect day for flying, clear and crisp. His cheeks and ears still burned from the cold. The snitch had been surprisingly simple to catch and Montague had actually pounded him on the back after practice.

"Do that in the next game and we'll take Gryffindor, for sure!"

Draco sneered a bit at that. If only fricking Potter didn't always seem to fly a bit faster, turn a bit sharper… He sighed and shook off thoughts of Potter. He was in far too good a mood to let The Boy Who Scored spoil it for him. Instead, he headed for the library. Granger-baiting would be the icing on his cake. If she hated him, so much the better. At least she couldn't ignore him.

He was disappointed to find her missing. Oddly, the other two lemurs were present, playing a game of wizard chess in the corner. Perhaps they had had a row and she was sulking in the Gryffindor common room. He nearly went over and asked where she was and chuckled to himself at the thought of their expressions if he did so.

He ran into Blaise in the hallway on his way out, who mentioned that Pansy was looking for him, but he wasn't in the mood for casual snogging. He itched to _do_ something.

He wandered the halls for a bit and found himself in the deserted corridor. He doubted Hermione would be in the room at this time of day. It was nearly time for supper. She had to be in the Gryffindor common room, studying.

So thinking, he absently opened the door and stepped inside.

He stopped cold at Hermione's horrified gasp. They stared at each other for a timeless moment and then Granger leaped for her wand.

Draco snatched his own out.

"Freeze, Granger!" he yelled and leveled it at her. She stopped and turned toward him with an expression of dread. She panted slightly and he figured a song had just ended, as a repetitive scratching came from the phono player.

"What are you doing up here, Granger?" he asked with deceptive softness. "Are you really here _all alone_?"

She raised her chin defiantly.

"Do your worst, Malfoy," she hissed.

Draco chuckled delightedly.

"Ah, a challenge." He walked forward and then around her in a full circle, examining her as he would a prize mare.

"And whatever are you wearing?"

She flushed scarlet. He could see it even in the dim glow from the candles she had lit to combat the growing shadows. Her defiant expression shifted slightly to something akin to fear. Malfoy smiled. That was more like it. She had finally realized she was alone, wandless, and completely at his mercy. Draco could not have been more elated.

He halted in front of her and touched his wand under her chin to bring her eyes up to meet his.

"Now tell me what you're doing here," he said. Truthfully, he had often wondered why she felt the need to hide away and cavort to muggle music on a regular basis. It was entertaining—for him anyway—but hardly seemed worth the risk.

"I'm exercising," she snapped. "I do not intend to become hugely fat simply because I don't have to walk across a room to fetch a book."

"I've seen you cross a room to fetch a book."

"I don't intend to get lazy, either!"

"Can't you take a jaunt around the lake? Run up and down the stairs a few thousand times?" he asked.

"I like dancing," she muttered. "It's fun. And wizard music just isn't the same. I miss my Ipod and music videos and the radio."

He had no clue what she was talking about and he really didn't care. He stepped back, keeping his wand leveled.

"So muggle dancing is fun? Show me."

She gaped at him.

"Show you what?"

"Show me this fun dancing, of course."

"I can't dance in front of you!"

Of course you can, he thought, you've done it dozens of times.

"Why not? Does it involve removing your clothes? It looks like you've already gotten a good start on that…"

She flushed again and he congratulated himself. It was rare he could get more than a single blush out of her. She must be more flustered than he thought.

"No, it does not involve removing my clothes. It's just… embarrassing. I can't dance in front of other people."

"Then teach me. I'm an excellent dancer. How different can muggle dancing be? And you're a bossy know-it-all. Teach me."

She stared at him.

"You've got to be joking."

"Not unless you want me to go fetch the rest of Slytherin House and we can _all_ watch you?"

"I will be long gone by the time you do that."

"Not if I cast _Petrificus Totalus_ on you."

She shook her head and glared. He could practically see the thoughts spinning in that clever little brain of hers. She hoped to humor him long enough to reach her wand, and then she would zap him with a nasty spell. A memory charm? Likely. She could probably do it without frying his brain, too.

"I'm certain that teaching Draco Malfoy muggle dances can be found in the Book of Sublimely Ridiculous Occurrences or possibly Portents of the Apocalypse." She held up a hand to forestall his comment. "Why do you want to learn? You hate all things muggle, remember? Pureblood ideology and all that tripe."

"I'm bored. If your little pastime amuses me, I may decide not to tell the whole school about this little incident."

She crossed her arms. "You'd best make up your mind about that, or I'll teach you nothing."

"If you don't tell anyone about teaching me, I won't tell anyone about _what_ you're teaching me. Fair enough?"

"How do I know I can trust you to keep silent?"

He grinned evilly. "You don't, Granger. That's what makes it interesting. The offer is going once… Going twice…"

"Fine," she said.

He marched over and rifled through her robes until he found her wand. He took both wands and wedged them beneath the box that held the playing discs, so that a quick _Accio_ spell would not dislodge them. He didn't know if she could _Accio_ without a wand, but he wanted to take no chances.

"For safekeeping," he said. "Now, let's begin."

"I can't believe I'm doing this," she said with a frustrated sigh. He watched her carefully as she rifled through the discs and pulled one out. She set it on the phono to play and music blared from the machine. It wasn't one of Draco's favorites, but it had a relatively easy beat to follow and wasn't ridiculously loud.

She stood across from him and his first muggle dance lesson began. She showed him a number of steps and made him mirror her – quick steps, sideways slides, shoulder rolls, hip gyrations, spins, and twists. Draco was a quick study, mostly due to the fact that he'd been watching her for weeks. He was also naturally graceful.

At one point she stood back and watched while he danced alone and he grinned at the rueful expression on her face.

"It figures you'd be good at this," she said dryly.

"Why?"

"Because you're already… semi-good looking," she admitted. "And you can dance. If you were in the muggle world, you'd have girls swooning at your feet."

"I already have girls swooning at my feet," he said. "Haven't you noticed?"

The song ended and a slower one began, so she rushed to change it.

"How do you dance to slow songs?" he asked.

"You don't," she snapped. She pulled the disc from the phonograph machine and looked up at the darkening skylight.

"We should go. I think we already missed supper."

He retrieved their wands while she slid the black disc into its cover. He looked at her thoughtfully.

"If I give this back to you, you'll jinx me, won't you?"

She looked at him guiltily.

"However, I'm going to require that you promise not to. That way, if you go back on your word, your little Gryffindor soul will squirm with guilt forever each time you see me. Now promise that you will not use any memory charms on me, nor hexes, nor curses, nor jinxes that will make me forget this little incident."

She looked as if she could curse him with a glare.

"I promise," she gritted, "but only if _you_ promise never to mention this to anyone."

"I promise," he said, "but only if _you_ promise to meet me here tomorrow for some further instruction."

"Why?" She looked stunned.

"Because I feel like it. Beside, I want to know as much as I can about muggles and their ways. I figure it will help me should I later decide to take up muggle-hunting. After Hogwarts, I mean."

She gasped in outrage. "I won't help you hunt muggles, nor assist you in your future career as a junior Death Eater!"

"Sure you will," he called on his way to the door. "Or I'll tell everyone about your little secret here. Might even contact The Daily Prophet. _And_ commission a painting of you in your skimpy little outfit. See you tomorrow." He opened the door, flipped her wand in her direction, and bolted.

Hermione was a bundle of nerves the next day. She could barely accept that what had happened the previous day was not a dream. Had she actually taught Draco Malfoy muggle dances? And had he actually insisted upon meeting her to learn more? It was beyond comprehension. She kept expecting to see pointing and hear sniggering from each Slytherin she passed in the halls, but Malfoy seemed to have kept silent.

Harry and Ron both noticed her preoccupation, but she explained vaguely that she was worried about an Arithmancy exam. Standing near Malfoy in Care of Magical Creatures was sheer torture. She kept sneaking glances at him but he paid her no mind whatsoever, as if she simply did not exist. She left class bewildered to the point of doubting her own reality. Maybe it really had been a dream!

She actually breathed a sigh of relief until Malfoy nudged her on their way back to the castle on the pretext of trying to trip her.

"After Herbology, Granger," he muttered low enough that she barely caught it. On his way down the hall, he whistled a few bars of a song that was completely familiar to her. She immediately tensed again. Damn, she hadn't dreamed it at all!

She watched his handsome figure as he receded and puzzlement furrowed her brow.

Odd, but she didn't remember playing Bon Jovi yesterday.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Hermione walked to her secret room as slowly as possible, although it was secret no more. She had anxiously considered not showing up at all, but she wholeheartedly believed Malfoy when he said he would commission a painting of her in her workout clothes. He would probably hang it in the main hall with an irremovable charm.

Draco was waiting for her, as dreaded. His robe and tie were gone and he had unbuttoned several buttons too many on his shirt, exposing more of his chest than she needed to see at this point. His black pants seemed far too tight to allow free movement, but she certainly wasn't going to comment on _that_.

He seemed excited as a golden retriever puppy.

"I just can't believe you want to do this," she said and cast a sealing spell on the door – something she should have done from the start in order to keep him out! Of all people to stumble upon her—Malfoy!

"What are you wearing?" he asked dubiously as she dropped her robe on top of his.

She had put on a simple t-shirt and grey sweats. Her usual workout clothes were simply too revealing for her to be comfortable around him.

"Clothing," she said shortly and cranked the phonograph machine.

"Yesterday's outfit was infinitely better."

"Thank you for your criticism."

"I think I'll commission that painting so that I can remember it."

"You will have to because I will never be wearing _that_ in your presence again."

They glared at each other.

"Get on with it, Granger," Draco said finally. She put on Bon Jovi since "You Give Love a Bad Name" had been dancing around her head all afternoon. Ever since Draco had whistled the chorus. She skipped that one, however, and went directly to "Runaway." It was faster.

They circled each other like dueling wrestlers when the music began. She watched him carefully as he mimicked her moves and felt a smile curve on her lips. He was a joy to watch, she had to admit. He had excellent timing and balance. He also seemed to know exactly what to do with his hands, unlike many dancers. At that thought, she drew her own hands down her sides and slid them over her hips just to watch him do the same. Her tongue touched suddenly dry lips. Draco watched her and moved forward until he was inches away from her. She wanted to back away, but did not want to look like a coward. She wasn't afraid of him getting close to her! She raised her chin defiantly and held her ground. At that point, he stopped mimicking her and seemed to find his own rhythm. They abandoned all pretense of a teacher/student relationship and simply danced while the music flowed over them.

She played "Bad Medicine" after that and the song seemed to fit Draco to a T. He continued to dance uncomfortably close to her, trying to intimidate her, no doubt. She tried to ignore the way his silver-blonde hair bobbed over his forehead and the way his smoky eyes watched her over lips that curved in an enigmatic smile. She kept her eyes far away from his bare chest and the light beading of sweat there. She tried not to notice the entrancing way he could move his hips…

When it was almost completely dark in the room she gasped in astonishment.

"How long have we been here? Everyone will wonder where I've gone!"

Draco sighed dramatically and put a hand to his forehead. "The burden of being popular."

She scowled at him. "I am _not_ popular."

"So by 'everyone' you mean Potty and the Weasel?"

She gritted her teeth. To think, a moment ago she had practically been lusting after him. He still looked far too sexy for his own good. His hair was tousled and clung to his forehead in places, dark with sweat. She pointed her wand at him.

"_Scourgify_!"

"Ouch! That was unnecessary!" he complained. "I know how to bathe, you know." His hair was even more mussed now, but clean and dry, and his clothes were spotless. She turned the spell on herself and welcomed the sting of the quick scouring.

"I have no intention of being seen leaving a room with you sweaty and panting," she said practically. "In fact, I have no intention of being seen leaving a room with you _at all_. Feel free to go."

He took the robe and tie she offered him, but made no move to leave. She sighed in exasperation.

"Is there something else?" she demanded.

"You've sealed the door, remember?" he asked mildly.

She flushed. What was it about him that was making her so forgetful and flighty? She felt like the Patil sisters, who giggled uncontrollably whenever a "cute" boy walked by. She pointed her wand absently at the door and it flew open with a bang.

"Temper, temper," he tsked.

"Just go, Malfoy."

He went.

Four days later, Hermione began to wonder if Draco had forgotten her completely. They had made no plans to meet again and both were busy, Draco with Quidditch and Hermione with homework. She hoped he had no further intent to torment her. He might want to learn to dance for his own perverse amusement, but it was not a game to her.

She thought about their "lessons" far too frequently. Her mind returned again and again to Draco dancing close to her, close enough to touch with a single misstep. She needed to stay away from him. Everything he did served his own selfish purpose and she needed to remember that. She could not allow herself to start thinking of him as a… well, as a decent person. Because he wasn't.

She was reminded of that later in the day when she passed a group of Slytherins on her way to Arithmancy. She picked out Draco's silver-blond head from the crowd instantly but was still surprised when he threw a large book at her feet. She tripped over it and went sprawling. Her Arithmancy book flew out of her hands and she banged her knee on the stone floor.

The Slytherins laughed uproariously.

"I found a book for you, mudblood," Draco said as she glared up at his smirking face. "I'm sure you'll enjoy it."

He and his giggling followers wandered down the hallway. She retrieved her Arithmancy book and then picked up the one he had thrown at her. It was titled 101 Uses for Muggle Skins. The cover looked suspiciously unlike any leather she had ever seen. She shuddered. He was revolting! Soulless bastard. She cracked open the front cover and a small piece of parchment caught her eye. Written in Draco's small, perfect handwriting was a single word: _Noon_.

She crumpled it angrily in a fist. He expected her to meet with him after that? Not bloody likely!

She barely made it through her Arithmancy class in an agony of indecision. On the one hand, she wanted to see him to give him a piece of her mind. Was it really necessary for him to be so monstrous at all times? On the other hand, she didn't want to be anywhere near him. Evil or not, she couldn't deny her growing attraction to him. He was too bloody gorgeous to ignore the way she needed to ignore him, and the dancing did not help. It seemed every single move his body made was calculated to achieve maximum seduction, although that was probably just her imagination.

She had to get a handle on her hormones. Just because she hadn't been kissed since the Yule Ball last year… Was she that desperate for affection? It didn't help that kissing Viktor had been like kissing a block of stone—rough and unyielding. He had thrust his tongue into her mouth like a battering ram and that had brought the evening to a swift end. She had pled exhaustion and escaped to her room.

Hermione wondered if kissing Draco would be any different. Knowing him, he would thrust her up against a wall and devour her like a snake swallowing his prey. Instead of repulsing her, the idea caused gooseflesh to break out on her skin and she felt an unwanted flush of desire. She sucked in a steadying breath and swore.

"Note to self," she muttered, "Never, _ever_ entertain the notion of kissing Draco Malfoy again."

The firm admonition made her feel a bit more in control and she touched the evil book he had tossed at her. Uses of muggle skin, indeed! He was utterly _vile_.

She was late meeting him. He had conjured a wooden chair from somewhere and was sitting on the backrest with his feet on the seat. Bon Jovi was singing "You Give Love a Bad Name" on the phonograph machine. Draco had a Golden Snitch in his hand and was playing with it. He released it and snatched it from the air before it could escape. Hermione cast _Silencio_ on the phono player.

"I don't think you're supposed to take those from the Quidditch field," she said disapprovingly.

"Really? I don't think you're supposed to smuggle muggle phonographs into unused classrooms and dance seductively in your off hours."

She glared at him and slammed the book on the floor next to his chair.

"I only came here to return this monstrous book to you. I shouldn't have even touched the disgusting thing!"

"Yet, I knew you would," he said with a smirk. The Snitch buzzed behind his head and he grabbed it with a quick movement that nearly knocked his chair over backward. The front legs banged the floor as he regained his balance. "After all, it is a _book_ and you know that knowledge is power, however horrible you might find that knowledge to be."

"Some 'knowledge' should never be learned!"

Draco shrugged. "That all depends on the use one puts that knowledge to, don't you think?"

He released the Snitch and it zipped upward in a blur. Draco vaulted into the air and executed a sideways flip that caused his cape to spiral up into a circle as he spun. He hooked the golden ball with his fingertips and landed on his feet next to his chair. She gaped at the acrobatics.

"If you can move like that, why don't you ever beat Harry at Quidditch?"

His eyes flashed silver daggers.

"We are not here to discuss Harry fricking Potter."

She crossed her arms.

"Why _are_ we here?"

"I've decided to teach you to dance," he said.

"_You_ have decided to teach _me_ to dance."

"Yes. I saw you and Captain Krum at the Yule Ball. What you two were doing could scarcely be called dancing. Your waltz is atrocious. Who taught you? Dragonagall?"

"As a matter of fact, yes, and don't call her that."

"Figures. She got the grace of an aged block of hemlock. No wonder she's a spinster." He snorted a laugh. "Who would touch that?"

Hermione's blood was beginning to boil. She sorted through her hexes to find one that would silence him most effectively. He grinned at her.

"Don't get your dander up. I'm trying to help you."

"You are an insufferable _ass_!" she hissed through clenched teeth.

"I know, but think of the alternative. With these looks, if I were gracious and kind I would never have any peace. Girls would be throwing themselves at me day and night."

Hermione buried her head in her hands. Sometimes there were no words. She needed to leave before she killed him.

"What do you want to learn first? Waltz? Tango? Foxtrot?"

"Don't all of those dances involve _touching_? Aren't you afraid of mudblood contamination?"

He reached into a pocket of his cape and brought out some white cloth.

"No. I brought gloves."

She had never wanted to hurt him more than she did at that particular moment.

"You cannot begin to imagine how much I loathe you right now," she said flatly.

"Good. Then I don't have to worry about you trying to kiss me or anything disgusting like that while I'm trying to teach you something."

She stalked to the door, intent on escaping his insufferable ego. Surely she hadn't been turned on by the thought of kissing him barely an hour ago. Right now she was more excited by the prospect of burying a shovel in his forehead.

"_Occludo_!" he said with a flick of his wand.

She wrenched on the door but it was shut fast.

"Open it."

"No."

She spun to face him.

"Do you always have to be such a bastard?"

"Is there another way?"

"For you, I suppose not."

"Then you'll just have to accept it. Now come here." He tucked his wand away and pulled on his gloves.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked without moving.

"It amuses me." He glared at her. "Do I need to come fetch you?"

She sighed. Apparently her torture was not yet complete. She walked forward.

"What do you want me to do?" she asked in the tone of a prisoner approaching the gallows. Draco smiled.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Draco was quite pleased with his new sport. Actually, Granger-baiting was an old sport with him, but this version was far better than the old one. The old game had involved insults, pranks, and several variations of sneering gazes. The new game combined all of that with the delicious follow-up of teaching her to dance, which opened up vistas of torment. He knew she hated him, but he also knew she was attracted to him. How could she not be? It was obvious in the way her breath caught in her throat when she looked at him. It was plain by the way her heartbeat raced whenever he gripped her wrist and pulled her into position for a dance. It was clear by the way she would bolt when their lesson was finished and by the way she dropped things in class whenever he was near. He was ruthless to her in public and laughed whenever her eyes sparkled at him in purest rage. In private he was even more ruthless, but on a completely different scale.

He held her far too tightly when they danced. He loved the way her back trembled beneath his hand and the way her fingers tugged at his, begging for release. He whispered instructions breathily into her ear, and brushed his lips against her skin just to feel her shudder. He dressed as provocatively as possible. He knew which clothes looked good on him and he wore them mercilessly. White shirts with pirate-like lacing; black jumpers that defined his muscles and hugged every curve; silver shirts that made his eyes look like platinum; and tight black pants that never varied. She would often take in his appearance and close her eyes with a pained expression.

Their dance lessons were commonplace now, scheduled when Potter and Weasley were at Quidditch practice so she wouldn't be missed by the other lemurs. She demanded daily that they be discontinued. She hadn't quite descended into begging.

"I taught you all the muggle dances you wanted," she snapped. "You taught me how to waltz, and foxtrot, and quickstep, and polka. More dances than I will ever need to know."

"You need to know how to tango."

"I do _not_ need to know how to tango!" He loved to bring up Latin dances. So far she had utterly refused to learn them. He wasn't sure why, but assumed the blatant eroticism of them made her avoid them like the plague. "I don't need to learn any more. I am quitting our lessons as of _right now_."

"Pity," he said simply.

She froze and her eyes bored into his.

"So. That's it, then?" she asked warily. For some reason, the little Gryffindor simply refused to trust him. Suspicious creature, she was.

"Yes."

Her shoulders sagged in relief. Or was it disappointment? Probably a large dose of both. She gathered her things and started for the door.

"Before you leave, would you like to see the sketch I drew up?"

"What sketch?"

"For the painting I've commissioned."

She blanched. She walked forward with such trepidation that Draco nearly chuckled with glee. She snatched the proffered paper from his hand and gasped aloud.

"This… this…"

He enjoyed the show. Her lips thinned into the whitest line of rage he had ever seen.

"What do you mean '_commissioned_?'"

"It should be finished next week."

For a moment he thought she was going to hyperventilate. He snatched the drawing back as if offended and examined it closely.

"What's wrong with it? It's lovely. A bit seductive, perhaps, and while I've never actually _seen_ you sit that particular way I know you have it in you… I even bribed a photo of you from that camera-happy little Gryffindor weasel Creavey in order to get your face _exactly_ right."

"This is low, even for you. What do you want?" She was actually shaking with fury. He put a hand on his wand, just in case she completely lost control.

"I just want to teach you to tango. You love to dance, so what's the problem? What are you afraid of?"

"I know you are doing this to torture me."

He said nothing, just raised a silvery brow at her and waited.

"I'll tango, damn you to hell. But I want the painting. And there had better be _no_ copies and _no_ others commissioned."

He grinned broadly, victorious. She stormed out.

Hermione was livid. She felt like blasting a hole in the outer wall and throwing herself through it.

How in the name of all that was holy had she gotten herself into this predicament? She made it partway down the first set of stairs and then sat down hard on a step. She rested her forehead on her knees and crossed her arms over her calves. When would it end? How many more demands would he make before he tired of her? She heartily debated going back on her promise. It might be worth an endless amount of guilt to be free of him. She could probably _Obliviate_ his memory. She had studied the theory. She might be able to do it without permanent damage… Damn it, she couldn't do it. Not even to _him_.

Despair washed over her. Oh God, she had agreed to let him teach her to tango. How would she ever survive _that_ with her sanity intact? She could barely handle waltzing with him; his viselike grip on her waist; his hands burning her flesh even through those damnable gloves he wore; the soft whispers in her ear that sent shivers down her spine; and his wretched silver eyes upon her every instant… Her ability to resist him was eroding and the most maddening thing was that he wasn't even trying to affect her!

God help her if he ever really tried to seduce her. Her vaunted willpower would collapse like a house of cards simply because of bloody animal attraction. It was just a physical reaction, for crying out loud! Why couldn't she control it? She choked back a sob. She would just have to find the strength to fight it. She couldn't let him win.

She had taken every precaution to remain aloof. No revealing outfits—she wore her school uniform whenever they met. He smirked each time he saw it, but never commented. She had tried to pull her hair back into a demure bun or horse's tail, but Draco had simply snapped the band with a spell and insisted her hair be loose so she could "better judge the speed of her spins." She knew it was drivel, but the last time he had fluffed her hair with his hands and sent tingles charging across her scalp so strongly that she vowed never again to give him the opportunity to touch her hair.

Draco was remorseless outside their secret room, showering her with insults, ruining her potions, knocking supplies out of her hands… yet in their room he was the soul of politeness. He never called her mudblood and even the way he said "Granger" was calculated to send chills down her spine.

She heard footsteps behind her and stiffened, but it was too late to flee.

"Tired, Granger?" Draco asked mellifluously when his steps halted beside her. Hermione cringed. He was in torment-her-with-kindness mode.

"Very," she said shortly. He sat down next to her, too close, of course. His hip pressed against hers. She would have shifted over, but she was already touching the stair rail. He would merely have followed her, anyway.

She felt his fingers brush her hair gently and then he grasped her shoulders and pulled her into a normal seated position. She sighed and wondered what wicked game he was playing now. He tucked her head back against his shoulder and rested his chin upon her hair. He kept his hands on her shoulders. She reflected wryly that she had sat this way dozens of times with Harry or Ron, relaxed and enjoying their company with no complications.

Sitting next to Draco was far different. She was so tense she thought her spine would snap if she moved too quickly. She could feel the slow thud of Draco's heartbeat and the warm draft of his breath on her hair. She suppressed a shiver.

"Relax. I'm not going to hurt you," he said softly.

"I hate it when you're nice to me."

"You hate it when I'm mean to you, also. In fact, I think we've established that you hate me all of the time."

"You work so hard to make sure of it!"

He was quiet and she bit her lip. She wasn't in the mood to argue with him. It was pointless and never seemed to make her feel any better. She expelled a breath and forced herself to relax against him. She let herself pretend, just for a moment, that he was a human being instead of a demonic incubus creature. She drank in his warmth and sighed when his hands slid down her arms to wrap around her waist.

"Why are you being nice to me, now?" she asked even though she was reluctant to shatter the respite. "So you can be twice as vicious to me tomorrow?"

"Probably. Or maybe you just caught me in a moment of weakness."

"You _have_ no weakness."

His arms tightened for a moment.

Draco pondered her words. He began to fear that he did have a weakness, one that he had acknowledged only moments before.

Seeing her huddled on the stairs in a miserable ball had not filled him with his usual satisfaction. In fact, he had felt something bloody uncomfortable and it had taken him a long moment to put a name to it. Remorse. He actually felt sorry for tormenting her. He had the urge to comfort her. He almost wanted to apologize, which was astounding because he could not recall apologizing for a single thing in the past… decade?

He sat down next to her and tried to pry her out of her shell. She did not thaw easily. He had done his work well; she would not trust his simplest action and she was ever alert for ulterior motives. He supposed it was for the best. He had worked hard to keep the fires of her hatred burning bright. God help him if she ever looked at him with anything other than loathing. He'd never be able to keep his hands off of her. He was having a hard enough time at the moment.

She relaxed against him suddenly and he caught his breath in surprise. He slid his hands down to her waist and breathed in the heady scent of her hair. Did she always have to smell so damned good? His thumbs caressed her ribs in a barely discernable movement. He had held her before, while dancing, but never like this, when she was so docile and… yielding? Was she? What would she do if he leaned her back and exposed her face, forced her to look at him? What if he bent down and touched his lips to hers? His heart rate quickened with anticipation and he raised his right hand. His fingers moved to her neck and cupped her jaw. Her skin was warm and soft. He shifted slightly.

"No gloves? Won't you be poisoned?" she asked scornfully. The words hit him like ice water. If she had used any other tone he might have ignored it, but the cold reminder of her contempt instantly deflated his passion. What the hell was he doing?

He stood up so quickly she nearly banged her head on the stone step.

"You'd better run along, Granger, before I do something we both regret."

She glared at him with an odd mixture of puzzlement and annoyance.

"I'm glad I'll never understand you," she said.

"Just go." He pushed a hand through his silver hair and watched her disappear down the stairs. Damn.

Hermione stared up at the dark wood of the ceiling and shifted her head slightly on her pillow. Her roommates were all asleep, but she lay wide awake. Her mind kept going over her last encounter with Draco. His words haunted her. _Run along… before I do something we both regret_. Do what? His tone had been so serious, not his usual disdainful sneer, nor the teasing tone he used when they danced. Both of those were calculated to set her teeth on edge, but this… He had meant it. For the first time, she contemplated something that hadn't occurred to her before. Why did he insist on continuing their dance lessons? She had thought it was because he enjoyed controlling her; that he loved forcing her to do his bidding. Now she wondered if there was more to it than that. Maybe he was actually attracted to her? Perhaps she wasn't the only one affected by their close association?

She bit her lip thoughtfully. She was tired of being on the defensive. Maybe it was time to take the war to him.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

It was an excellent afternoon for flying. Several of Draco's cronies gathered to watch as he made several passes around Hogwarts and executed several trick moves to appeal to them. He waved nonchalantly. It was good to have followers. He flitted over the lake, staying as close to the water as possible without touching it. Once out of sight of the castle, he circled back and approached it from a seldom-used angle, hugging the ground to avoid detection. He soared upwards along the outer wall of the school and dropped down into a tiny rooftop garden he had discovered on one of his forays. Someone – Professor Sprout or house elves, perhaps – kept it well tended, for the flowers were always well groomed and dead leaves were never in sight, but Draco had never seen anyone there. Today was no exception.

The benefit of the garden was that it was only three corridors and two sets of stairs away from Hermione's secret room. He shouldered his broom and wondered vaguely if she would even show up after yesterday's strange interlude. He had nearly ruined everything.

When he entered the room, he halted in shock and struggled to breathe for a moment. Hermione's schoolgirl clothes were missing. She had gotten a new outfit. It was similar to the black one he had admired when he'd watched her in secret, but this one had red trim that seemed to highlight her visible assets. He had forgotten how revealing the shiny fabric was.

She shrugged. "I swore never to wear the other one in front of you again, so I ordered a new one. I agreed to let you teach me to tango, but first I think I should show you a few more muggle dances."

Draco looked bemused for a moment.

"You can't avoid the dreaded tango forever."

"I shall avoid it as long as possible," she said pertly and started the music. Draco tossed his broom aside and shrugged out of his robes. Hermione stepped close to him. She watched him defiantly as she reached out and took his gloveless hands. He grinned, but allowed her touch without comment.

She demonstrated a few moves while speaking in her teacher-voice. She said she had learned the swing and jitterbug from her parents. Draco was an apt pupil, as usual, and soon they twirled, rotated, and skipped across the floor with seamless motion. Although he didn't have much opportunity to put his hands all over her, Draco enjoyed the session.

It was a sunny day, so they had plenty of light from the ceiling window. They danced for nearly an hour to her varied fast-rhythm songs. Violins signaled a slower song and Hermione rushed to change it. Draco caught her hand.

"Wait," he said. "I like it."

"It's called 'The Best of Times,'" she said. He retained his grip.

"Muggles must dance to this, or it wouldn't be on the phonograph," he insisted.

She sighed. "They do, but it's silly."

"Show me," he demanded.

She rolled her eyes, but stepped close to him. She took his hands and put them on her hips. She placed her own hands on his shoulders, so lightly he barely felt the pressure.

"Now you just kind of rock in place and shift your shoulders and hips," she instructed.

Draco experimented and quickly found a rhythm that matched the music. His eyes narrowed. There had to be more to it than this or she wouldn't have been so skittish about it earlier. Hermione kept her gaze fixed on a point over his shoulder. She rigidly maintained a four-inch gap between them and Draco figured it out. He smiled wickedly and slid his hands around her back. He yanked her against him and felt her breasts mash nicely into his chest. Her eyes flew to his as she gasped.

"Much better," he decided as their feet readjusted. He expected her to shove him away and halt their session, but after a moment of resistance, she sighed deeply and slipped her hands around his neck. Draco nearly tripped when she laid her head upon his chest. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. She had never capitulated so easily. He peered carefully into the shadows of the room, alert for lurking Gryffindors. She could have tired of his game and confided in her lemur friends.

"I can't believe I'm slow dancing with Draco Malfoy," she murmured against his shoulder. "I am certifiably mental."

Her words calmed him somewhat. She sounded sincere. Draco did not even want to consider what his Slytherin friends would say if they could see him wrapped so intimately around Hermione. His father would disown him instantly for even touching a muggleborn. He grinned at the thought. It was rare that he ever defied his father in any way.

And this particular way was turning out to be quite enjoyable.

The song ended far too soon for Draco's taste. Hermione released him and stepped back as if waking from a daze.

"We probably shouldn't do that too often," she said warily. Draco nodded soberly. He already enjoyed touching her far too much.

Although she played a dangerous game, Hermione felt good to be taking action. No longer were all the cards on Draco's side of the table. She ordered several outfits with cold blooded calculation. Leggings with a short, form-fitting pullover tunic; a racerback tank and matching tennis skirt; a halter top that was so revealing she hadn't the guts to wear it when it arrived; a bodysuit with thin straps that she vowed only to wear with a shirt; and a rust-colored silk corset top that made her look like a pirate slut with its wide belt and oversized buckle.

She wore the pirate outfit the next time they met and felt a flash of pure triumph when he actually goggled at her. He tried to speak and had to clear his throat a number of times before the words exited.

"What the hell are you wearing?"

"This old thing?" she asked coquettishly, although she drew the line at batting her eyelashes. She also wore the form-fitting black leggings that she knew he liked. She steeled herself and upped the ante by biting her lower lip and tugging at the bodice. His eyes followed her hands as though entranced. "I do hope I don't fall out – it's a bit tighter than I expected." She dropped her hands and took a deep breath that nearly did cause her to pop out of the top. Draco sucked in a breath before he raised a trembling hand and dragged it through his hair, a sure sign that he was flustered.

She looked at him expectantly.

"Tango today?"

"God no!"

She suppressed a smile. Hermione—one. Draco—zip.

They barely got in a few quick non-touching muggle dances before Draco called the session short and bolted, using homework as an excuse. Hermione actually hummed on her way out of the room.

Her vengeance did not stop there. Outside the secret room, she ignored him utterly. She neither looked for him nor at him. She turned a deaf ear to his insults, sidestepped his attempts to trip her, and effortlessly defused his attempts to sabotage her work by thinking five steps ahead of him. It worked beautifully.

"What is going on between you and Malfoy?" Harry asked in the Gryffindor common room one night.

"What do you mean?" she asked placidly.

"He looks at you like he wants to kill you. I mean _actually_ wants to kill you. He used to look at you as though you were an insect, rather like he looks at me, but now he looks as if he could incinerate you on the spot."

Hermione smiled broadly at Harry's words.

"Excellent."

Hopefully in a few more days Draco would put an end to the "dance lessons" once and for all. Then they could get back to their normal lives of Gryffindor and Slytherin rivalry. All would be well.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Draco slammed into the room. Hermione was sitting in his chair toying with her wand. He glared at her and a muscle in his jaw worked.

"What the hell are you playing at?" he demanded. She looked at him with an innocent expression.

"What do you mean?"

"You know precisely what I mean." He flung out a hand. "Down there, you act like I don't even exist and up here you… you…"

She stood up so he would not shout down at her, since he was obviously in the mood for a fight.

"I what? You can't really be upset that I ignore you. Of course I ignore you! I can't very well rush up and give you a _hug_ when I see you in Potions, now can I? You certainly haven't curbed your public malice toward me. What do you expect me to do?"

He glared at her. "I don't know, but in this room you act sickeningly sweet and dress like a—can that skirt _get_ any shorter?"

She looked down at her white tennis skirt speculatively. "I don't know. Let me see." She yanked at it experimentally and it rose on her thighs another inch. "Yes. A bit shorter, actually."

Draco blanched. He took in the rest of her outfit and she felt the first hint of trepidation when his eyes glowed like silver flame. Perhaps she had gone overboard with the dark blue halter-of-little-coverage and the sheer aqua blouse. She suddenly felt far too uncovered.

She tried to divert his attention. "You know, you can call a halt to these meetings at any time. We can stop pretending to be pleasant and go back to despising one another."

"Pretending to be pleasant. Is that what you've been doing?"

"Isn't that what _you've_ been doing? Or is the pretense the vicious slurs you throw at me? Which is it, Malfoy? Are you pretending to like me, pretending to hate me or is your life such a travesty that everything you do is fake?"

His lips thinned. "You don't know anything about my life."

"And what do you know about mine? We know nothing about each other and we have nothing at all in common! What are we even doing here?"

They glared at each other like rival cats.

"You would love for me to walk out of here and never come back, wouldn't you?" he asked.

"Yes, I would," she breathed, although her heart lurched and she suddenly knew it wasn't true. His eyes narrowed and he walked around her slowly, much like he did the first day she discovered him here. He stopped behind her, so close she could feel her hair brush against his chest when he moved. She set her jaw and walked firmly away from him. She couldn't think clearly when he was too near.

She at him over her shoulder.

"Look, we've got to stop meeting like this. You know it. We are going to kill each other if we don't."

"I don't want to kill you."

"Really? Then what was that little stunt you pulled in Potions on Monday? You nearly blew up the classroom by tossing Ashwinder powder into my cauldron. You're bloody lucky I saw you or Snape would have expelled us both."

"I made sure you saw me."

"It doesn't matter. I don't understand why you insist we continue this charade! We despise each other, so let's just leave it at that and pretend none of this ever happened."

"You want to forget? All of it?"

"Yes!" she cried truthfully. If she could rip the memory from her own mind, she would. She did not want to remember the times Draco had been so… unDracolike. There had been moments when she had glimpsed something beyond the hateful façade he always hid behind.

"Well, I _don't_." His voice was adamant.

She turned around to look at him questioningly. "Why not?"

He sprawled in the chair she had vacated with a sigh. "Look, Granger, I'll be honest with you."

_That should be a switch_, she thought, but bit the words back before she could speak them. He glared as if she had said them aloud.

"I… like dancing with you." He looked as though the words were being dragged from him by force. She stared at him, knowing that such an admission likely cost him a few acres of his reserved property in hell. "I look forward to it almost as much as Quidditch. More, if we're playing Gryffindor. I know you hate it and you hate me and every moment you spend with me is sheer torture, so I'll make a bargain with you."

She narrowed her eyes, thinking that bargains with the devil were never a good idea, but again she kept silent and let him speak.

"I will stop tormenting you outside this room. No more pranks, no more sabotage, no more tricks and traps."

"No more name calling?" she asked dryly.

"Well, I can't go that far or the other Slytherins would think I'd gone mental and owl my father. I'd be committed to St. Mungos."

"All right. Name calling - in, evil actions - out. What do you expect me to do?"

"Stop ignoring me, for one. I'd rather you hate me than pretend I don't exist."

Her lips twisted.

"God forbid anyone ignore a Malfoy."

"Quite right."

"Anything else?"

His silver eyes raked over her and she felt sure he was going to comment on her campaign of torture by apparel.

"No."

"Then we have a truce."

"A truce."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

The cease-fire turned out to be easier than Hermione had imagined. Both of them slipped into the comfortable routine of public hatred, but without the cruelty Draco had exhibited earlier.

He actually tucked a note unobtrusively into her cauldron as they left Potions the next day. It read: _Considered putting foul ingredient into your potion while you did Weasel's work for him. Congratulate me on superb self-control_.

She had to smile. It was a relief not to constantly watch for Draco's attacks. She rewarded him by treading on his foot as the mob broke up in the hallway. Harry and Ron had already disappeared to go to Divination and Hermione headed for Ancient Runes.

"Careful, Malfoy," she said, "I don't think your ego will fit through that archway."

He sneered at her, but she could see he was pleased that she'd honored her agreement not to ignore him. He didn't even comment.

She also took pity on him when they met after dinner that night. She wore her black exercise top, but threw a shirt over it to cut down on the seduction factor. He seemed to have the same idea, as he appeared wearing a black shirt that barely clung to his muscles when he moved. He still looked like a dark angel, but at least she could look at him without her jaw unhinging.

By unspoken agreement, they danced to muggle songs to avoid touching one another and shattering their tentative peace. Draco, it turned out, had an excellent voice. He sang along to several songs, causing her to shake her head in amazement. She wondered if there was any talent he didn't possess. His rich baritone voice sent a new round of chills up her spine and she sighed inwardly. There was really no way to avoid the torment of attraction.

Against her better judgment, she found herself relaxing her guard during the next week. Draco still verbally assaulted her in and out of class, but the malicious edge was gone and he often kept his commentary to a few terse words. In the library, he would draw stick pictures of her hanging from a tree or getting struck by lightning. The first time he did that, she nearly choked herself to keep from laughing and ended with Ron pounding her on the back while she coughed.

On Sunday afternoon he marched into the room and walked straight to the record pile. He flipped through the stack and chose one of the classical records he had stolen from somewhere in order to teach her to waltz.

"Time to tango," he said.

She started in surprise. He hadn't even come close to touching her since their truce. She had wondered if he was back to his no-touching rule.

"We kicked the pants off of Ravenclaw yesterday in Quidditch. I'm in the mood to celebrate."

The music began and he stepped forward and stopped about a foot from her.

"To begin, put one hand on my shoulder, here, and lean into me. Don't move your feet."

Hermione placed her hand accordingly and leaned. Draco did the same and their bodies came into contact at the chest. Her cheeks burned. She shut her eyes and tried not to breathe. Her cheek pressed against his jaw. He placed his right hand across her back and locked it upon her shoulder blade.

"Now," he murmured, "Put your left arm on my right arm, but don't use any pressure or you'll throw us off balance." She opened her eyes and rested her hand gently on his shoulder. Draco opened his hand and Hermione obediently put her palm in his. His fingers closed gently on hers.

"Lock your shoulders so we move as one."

Hermione swallowed. She was pressed so closely against Draco that she could feel his every subtle motion. Already she could feel the heat beginning to warm her from the inside out.

He instructed her quietly on how to move her feet while guiding her. She felt awkward and clumsy at first, but Draco maintained a calm teaching manner that gradually relaxed her. Once she started to concentrate on the dance itself, she actually enjoyed the lesson.

He stepped back after they had practiced for nearly an hour.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"It was horrible," Hermione said. "I'll need to practice for a year before I can enjoy it and not feel so clumsy."

"It won't take that long. You're a good dancer. This one just takes some extra concentration. It helps to relax and clear your mind first."

Hermione blinked at him.

"Was that a compliment? Rewind the tape because I'm certain I didn't hear you correctly. Did Draco Malfoy say something _nice_ to a mudblood?"

"Rewind the tape?"

Hermione smiled, knowing he would never acknowledge the remark. "Fine, I'll pretend I didn't hear it." She was in an amazingly good mood and tried not to attribute it to the close contact with Draco.

"One muggle dance and then we'll quit."

He selected "Somebody to Love" by Queen and sang along even though he didn't quite know all the words. Their dance was part swing and part slow dance, which wasn't nearly so frightening since Hermione had been pressed up against him for the past hour. He coaxed her into singing with him and by the end she had a fit of the giggles that left her weak in the knees.

He spun her in a dizzying circle even though the song had ended.

"You know, I don't think I've ever heard you laugh before," he said. "At least, not around me."

"Being around you isn't exactly conducive to hilarity."

"No?"

"Stark terror, perhaps. Insanity, surely."

"Don't forget mindless ecstasy."

"You are so egocentric," she admonished and then chuckled. "It's nice when you're in a good mood. You should try it more often."

"And destroy my brooding, tormented, angst-ridden image? Surely not."

He spun her a few more times for good measure until she was nearly too dizzy to stand. She clung to his shoulders and smiled up into his warm grey eyes. She caught her breath. Since their truce, Draco had become an enigma. She never knew what to expect from him. She almost missed the old Draco and his predictable arrogant spite, because he had been far easier to resist than this relaxed, carefree Draco with his teasing and good humor.

"I should go."

Draco sneered. "Yes, I suppose the other lemurs miss you dreadfully. Probably pondering how they can possibly manage to do their own homework if you don't return soon. I'm sure they'll send a search party out rather than face that horrible unknown."

She nearly laughed, but looked at him seriously instead.

"Why do you hate Harry so much?"

"Why do you like him so much?"

She smiled, bemused. "I love Harry."

Draco released her and stepped back.

"You love him. He's your boyfriend, then?"

"No. I love him, but I'm not _in_ _love_ with him. It's hard enough being his friend. To love him at a deeper level…" She shook her head. "It would be unbearable."

"Why?"

"For one thing, everything Harry feels is intense. If you are his friend, you have his utter friendship and loyalty. You accept without question that he will die for you, if necessary. That can be a very large burden, as you have to be prepared to return the favor. True friendship means giving as completely as you receive."

"Meaning you would be willing to die for Potter?"

"Of course."

Draco looked at her through narrowed eyes.

"That's madness."

"That's love." She shrugged. "If Harry ever gives his heart to a girl—I mean _really_ falls in love, not a silly crush like he had on Cho Chang—she will need to be very strong to handle that intensity. His childhood was so wretched; he never had anyone at all to love. All of that emotion has been bottled up. When Harry falls in love, it will be completely, deeply, and forever, so it needs to be with someone really special." She shut her mouth suddenly, wondering why she was telling Draco Malfoy all this.

Draco sneered as though her words had barely registered.

"Good luck finding someone to fall in love with Potter."

She rose to Harry's defense angrily. "Harry is good and kind and gentle. He's thoughtful and honest and loyal! It would be easy to fall in love with him. Any girl would be lucky to have him!"

"But not you."

Hermione glared at Draco. "I don't know. Now that you've got me thinking about it, maybe I _am_ in love with Harry!"

She spun on a heel and stalked out.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

Against his will, Draco found himself pondering Hermione's words. He wasn't terribly surprised to learn she was willing to die for Harry Potter, as he'd always felt that to be something of a Gryffindor trait. They seemed to think nothing of nobly laying down their lives for each other. If one Gryffindor leapt from the castle wall, the rest would likely fling themselves over, as well. Like lemmings.

What disturbed him was her listing of Harry's oh-so-lovable traits. Good and kind and gentle. Draco could be good and kind and gentle. Well, maybe not _good_, but he could pretend to be good, which was close enough to actually being good to pass in most situations. He could certainly be kind and gentle, when he chose. Which wasn't often, granted. It was the whole thoughtful and honest and loyal thing that Draco was having a problem with. He was certain she hadn't meant _thoughtful_ in the sense of sitting around thinking, because no way in hell did Potter possess that quality. She must have meant _thoughtful_ in the sense of thinking of someone else rather than themselves. It had Draco stymied. He couldn't remember having been _thoughtful_ in quite some time. If ever.

Her inclusion of the word _honest_ didn't disturb him too strongly. Gryffindors put far too much stock in honesty. Truth was a weapon and Slytherins did not willingly hand over weapons. If the truth could be used against you, it was far better to bury it under a stack of lies than be cut by it. If it could be used in your favor it should be wielded without mercy.

And loyalty. A Malfoy was loyal only to a Malfoy. Draco had learned from his father that loyalty was a mask you wore to insure your own survival. Lucius had pretended loyalty to the Dark Lord when he was in power and when that power waned; the loyalty was transferred to the Ministry of Magic. Should another power arise, no doubt Lucius would be a most faithful servant of the new regime. Likewise, Draco's loyalty was to Draco. The very idea of staying faithful unto death to any person or ideal was ludicrous. Things changed far too frequently to remain rooted. Sometimes swapping sides was the only reasonable alternative to going down with a sinking ship. Yes, loyalty was overrated.

But the others… kind and gentle and thoughtful. Draco could pull that off.

In love with Harry Potter.

Draco would see about that.

Hermione had a cold. She had taken a Pepperup Potion, cure for the common cold, but apparently she had contracted an _un_common cold, for the potion had done little to combat the malicious virus.

She dragged through her classes in a fog and sneezed throughout Care of Magical Creatures while Hagrid happily showed them how to care for streelers. Hermione wondered how the giant snails survived in the snow, since they were originally from Africa. Knowing Hagrid, he probably kept the venomous creatures in his hut and made up a nice warm bed for them next to his own. The thought of a nice warm bed made her shiver miserably. She was suddenly enveloped in heat, as though a warm blanket had been wrapped around her.

She sighed in contentment and glanced sidelong at Draco, the only person she knew who could have known such a spell and had the ability to cast it silently. Her brow raised in puzzlement. He'd never done anything even remotely kind before. Possibly in his entire life. His eyes sparkled at her and she smiled gratefully for the barest moment. She was overcome with a rush of emotion that surprised her. A month ago she would have laughed hysterically at the idea of Draco Malfoy easing her discomfort instead of causing it. It was confusing, but damned welcome.

After class, she wanted only to slip into Gryffindor tower and sleep, but as she passed the statue of Artemisia Lufkin she noticed that Lufkin's stone robe had a different clasp than usual—the signal that Draco wanted to meet with her. She sighed and debated not going. In her weakened state, she wasn't sure she could deal with him. He had been so bloody nice lately that the protective walls she had built to keep him out were crumbling like day-old cornbread.

It would be polite to see him, though. If only to thank him for the warming spell. She stayed behind when the other Gryffindors left for dinner by pleading a headache, which was quite true. After everyone had departed she made her way upstairs.

"You look perfectly dreadful," Draco said by way of greeting.

"Thank you. I feel perfectly dreadful."

"Well, take your robe off. Come over here and lie down and I'll give you the old Malfoy family remedy."

She looked at him suspiciously.

"Does it involve thumbscrews and electric eels?"

"No, that's the cure for severe acne."

She noticed the couch for the first time. It sat against the wall close to Draco's original chair.

"Where are you getting all the furniture?"

In the past month, he had dredged up a small table and three mismatched chairs, a large rug that was unraveling on one corner, a small writing desk, and a wrought iron coat rack.

"Here and there. The couch was dusty and a horrid shade or chartreuse when I found it."

"So you turned it Slytherin green?"

"It was either that or black."

He sat down and gestured to her imperiously. She tossed her robes aside and sat next to him tentatively. He maneuvered her around until they were both resting comfortably. Draco's back was propped in a corner of the couch and Hermione leaned against him with her head on his chest. He had draped a blanket over them both.

"I'm finding your remedy to be a bit suspicious."

He shushed her and began to massage her temples with his long fingers. Hermione sighed happily as her headache gradually receded and delicious warmth spread throughout her body. She stopped worrying about Draco's ulterior motives and gave in to his therapy. She felt she could stay where she was forever.

"I retract my earlier comment. It's an excellent remedy."

"It works for a number of ailments."

"I'll bet."

She wasn't sure when the delightful languor lulled her into sleep, but she woke up gradually to the knowledge that she was still with Draco. Her head lay on his chest, but she had turned so her arm was draped across his waist. One of her legs was intertwined in his. She listened to him breathe and felt the steady rise and fall of his chest. She smiled in wonder at the very idea of Draco Malfoy allowing a mudblood to fall asleep on him. He had changed so much since their truce. The suspicious part of her wanted to know why. The trusting part urged her to just accept it. Or perhaps the stupid part.

She should get up, but she hated to wake him. And not merely because of the unbelievable contentment she felt lying upon him like this. In fact, if she could force her synapses to fire properly, she would fling herself to her feet and run like the wind. She was playing with fire.

"Awake, Granger?" Draco murmured.

She sighed. "Unfortunately." Instead of rising, she brushed her thumb lightly across his rib cage and then chuckled.

"Honestly, what would the other Gryffindors say if I told them I slept with Draco Malfoy?"

"They would say 'lucky bitch,' of course."

She laughed. "Even the guys?"

"Of course. Especially Potter. He pretends to hate me to hide his overwhelming sexual attraction to me."

Hermione choked at the ludicrous thought. "Ew."

She sat up suddenly with a gasp. "What time is it?"

Draco smiled at her languidly and crossed his arms behind his head.

"You're the one with the muggle watch, remember?"

She looked at the Beauty and the Beast watch she'd picked up in Disneyland Paris the previous summer. It was a rare wind-up watch that worked fine at Hogwarts.

"Goodness! 11:45! How will we sneak back to our common rooms?"

"Malfoys don't sneak. I plan to walk back calmly. Really, you act like you've never been out at night before. How do you and the other lemurs do it whenever you're traipsing around visiting crazed gamekeepers and looking for chambers of secrets?"

Hermione wasn't about to divulge the existence of Harry's invisibility cloak, no matter how dangerously sexy Malfoy was at the moment. She got to her feet.

"You could just stay here with me," he offered.

"Not the wisest idea I've ever heard."

He grinned. "Do you want me to escort you back?"

Hermione gaped at him in bewilderment.

"Who are you and what have you done with Draco Malfoy?"

He ignored that and left the couch. He picked up her robes and fastened them around her neck after draping them over her shoulders. He shrugged into his own and then held the door for her as they departed.

It was a surprisingly uneventful walk to the Gryffindor common room. Must be the devil's luck, Hermione decided. When she stood outside the portrait hole, Draco saluted her smartly and left for the dungeons. She smiled bemusedly and watched him until he disappeared from sight.

"Meeting your secret love?" the Fat Lady asked in a stage whisper.

"Yes," Hermione said, although she wouldn't let the question sink in as she gave the password and retreated to her bed.

Draco hummed to himself as he sauntered through the dark hallways and down several flights of stairs after leaving Hermione. His plan was working admirably. This whole "kind and gentle and thoughtful" thing wasn't nearly as difficult as he had expected and the rewards were enormous.

He felt an unexpected warmth at the memory of Hermione sleeping against him. It rather surprised him that she would trust him enough to actually fall asleep in his arms. A month ago, she would not even have sat on the couch with him. Maybe it had merely been her illness making her behave strangely. She'd most likely be back to her old prickly, skittish self soon.

Draco frowned at the realization that he didn't want her to be afraid of him. He wanted her the way she had been this evening: pleasant, relaxed, and ingenuous. He paused partway down the dungeon steps, somewhat alarmed at the thought.

His motives were purely selfish, weren't they? He wanted her to trust him only so he could crush her at his leisure. It was all part of his master plan to lull her into a false sense of security. Right?

Absolutely, he told himself. Soon he would get tired of playing with her and do something unexpectedly horrifying and she would merrily return to loathing him with all the raging passion she possessed.

Raging passion. He pondered the phrase for a moment, applying it to Hermione in a different context. He had seen her, on occasion, watching him through eyes that were liquid chocolate pools and with lips that were slightly parted. Yes, there were untapped reserves of passion hiding beneath that bookish façade of hers… Potter was an absolute fool not to have noticed that prize sitting right beneath his nose. If the imbecile had even put forth a bit of effort, she would have been Harry's, body and soul.

Draco grinned to himself. Potter's loss was his gain and he intended to take full advantage of it.

Reassured that his motives were completely wicked, he returned to the Slytherin dungeon.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Hermione had always thought it would happen in a rush. Like a bolt of lightning or a crash of fireworks. She never expected it to be a gradual, insidious thing.

It happened on a mundane day in December. She tripped on the stairs and spilled several of her potion ingredients at the very moment when half of Slytherin House was on their way down. Most of the Slytherins paused to jeer at her or kick her items farther down the stairs.

"Scrabbling on the ground where you belong, eh mudblood?" Pansy Parkinson sneered as she walked by. Hermione must have sensed Draco because she looked up to find him beside her. He wasn't looking at her; instead he was glaring at Pansy's back with the same expression of hatred Hermione used to encounter on a daily basis. Hermione blinked in surprise.

Draco's eyes met hers then, and softened into quicksilver pools.

"Gryffindor scum," he said loudly, but she caught the barely audible teasing timbre of his voice.

"Slytherin pig," she returned without venom. He sneered and it was at that particular moment that she realized she loved him. No lightning, no thunder, no fireworks. Just simple knowledge that hit her like an anvil dropped in an old cartoon. He moved off with the others and left her sitting in stunned disbelief, unable to finish gathering her spilled articles. She sat on the dungeon steps for a long, long time with her head in her hands, wondering exactly when simple animal attraction had grown and deepened into something beyond her control. What had caused it? There was no single moment she could recall. It was more than lust, because that had always been there beneath the surface. She had stopped hating him. She had gotten used to him. She had begun to like him. And now this.

Hermione's new knowledge had her thoroughly depressed for the next few days. She barely ate. She couldn't sleep. Homework became a nightmare as she struggled to comprehend it through a fog of exhaustion. She often found herself staggering down to the common room past midnight, unable to sleep for tortured, ecstatic dreams of Malfoy, yet unable to concentrate on the books before her.

She became irritable and snappish and had a huge row with Ron over a broken quill that ended with her bursting into tears and fleeing to her room.

Harry tried to coax the problem out of her, but she couldn't possibly explain that she was in love with _Malfoy_—God, how could she have let that happen? Harry was left hurt and confused by her inability to confide in him. The Lemur Trio is falling apart, she thought bitterly.

She had put off Draco for nearly a week when he caught her alone and threatened to drag her to their secret room by her hair, so she finally agreed to meet him. She was fully prepared to tell him off and go back to their old relationship of mutual hatred.

She steeled herself and stepped purposefully into the room.

He was waiting for her in the darkness near the door and he snatched her up from behind and spun her in a circle before he released her and walked to the phonograph.

"You're late. I should be very angry with you for putting me off so long," Draco said. "People do not put off Malfoys by being too busy or too tired or too… whatever your last excuse was."

"Look, Malfoy," she began with determination, but he cranked the machine and dropped the needle. Her words were drowned by the strains of "Goody Two Shoes," her "theme song" Draco insisted. He grabbed her again and spun her into a swinging dance.

"Back to your demure ways again?" he asked as her robes spun out behind her. She had not even bothered to change from her school uniform.

She released him and ran to the machine. She snatched the needle, breathing hard.

"Malfoy, we have to stop doing this," she said without looking at him. "We don't need any more dance lessons from each other. You are already a far better dancer than most muggles who've practiced for years."

"I'm gifted that way," he admitted smugly.

She turned to look at him and clasped her hands together to keep from wringing them in nervousness.

"Seriously," she said. "There is no logical reason for us to continue this. It's only a matter of time before we're caught. I'm sure your Slytherin cronies are wondering where you disappear to. Harry and Ron—" she pressed on quickly, ignoring the sneer that always twisted his lips at the mention of the two—"have already noticed and I'm surprised they haven't followed me."

Draco was silent. Hermione began to babble, as she usually did when she was upset.

"You do understand, don't you? I mean, it's not that I don't enjoy meeting you here, God knows it been… well, it's been a far cry from being here alone, I can tell you and for certain I've gotten more exercise than I ever would have done on my own and—"

She clamped her jaw shut with a snap. Draco walked forward, leaned close, and then reached behind her to drop the needle back onto _Random Hits_. It landed somewhere in the middle of "Cool Night."

"You really do talk too much," he said softly and pulled her into an embrace. He took her hand in one of his and danced her, part waltz and part swing, though the song was a slow one.

Hermione sighed and gave in. One last dance, one last fantasy for her to indulge. She looked up into his silver eyes and pretended, just for a moment, that he loved her. He smiled, giving reinforcement to her lie. She closed her eyes as her heart did a slow roll. It wouldn't do for him to see the truth she was afraid she could no longer hide.

He pulled her closer and slowed a bit.

"You know," he said casually, "Your first name is quite the mouthful. Could your parents have found a longer one?"

"Well, what kind of people name their child after a dragon? Besides, you don't call me by my name, anyway," she huffed, seizing on the topic like a lifeline. He ignored her.

"I've heard the Weasel call you 'Mione,' which doesn't surprise me as I'm sure it's difficult for his tiny brain to process such a staggering number of syllables."

"Only four!"

"That's a lot for Weasley. Anyway, I've decided you need a nickname."

"You already call me 'Mudblood,' remember?" she said softly. He ignored that, also.

"I've decided to call you Mi," he said matter of factly. She nearly gasped as the word echoed in her head. Mi. My. _Mine_. She stopped dancing and backed away, but he wouldn't release her hand. She wanted to scream at him that she was _not_ his possession.

But she was.

"Oh God," she said softly. He seemed not to notice her distress and snatched her back against his chest.

"Come here," he said. "You're making it damned difficult to finish a single dance today. What the hell is the matter with you?"

"I already told you!" she said sharply. "We—"

"Yes, yes, we're going to get caught, Harry and Ron, blah blah blah," he snapped.

"Don't you care?" she said, staring into his quicksilver eyes in confusion.

"Can't say that I do," he said casually.

She ripped away from him forcibly at that and stalked to the machine. She pulled the needle off with finality and spun back to him.

"That's bloody well not true and I know it. What would you do if your little Slytherin friends came in here right now? What if Pansy, your _girlfriend_, saw us together? Or Montague? Would you admit to what we've been doing?"

He was silent and she nodded.

"Exactly! You would rip me to shreds in front of them to save face. God forbid the mighty Malfoy be seen cavorting with a mudblood, _touching_ an impure creature such as myself! Why, the filth might rub off, you know! You could be tainted for life by simply breathing the same air!"

She had finally reached him. His eyes were glacial and his jaw was set in a hard line. Hermione took a deep breath. It was time to do the hardest thing she had ever done in her life. It took every bit of courage she possessed and every ounce of strength to keep her voice steady.

"And, frankly, I wouldn't be able to explain you to my friends, either. I mean, _me_ lowering myself to consort with Slytherin scum, and especially a bigoted, spoiled, self-centered, _deluded_ bastard such as yourself…" she forced herself to laugh shortly though she nearly choked with the effort and she felt her heart crack straight down the middle at the look on his face. She had hurt him, and deeply. She pressed on, steeling herself against the pain. "I think I've carried on this farce long enough. Our truce is at an end and now I won't have to pretend any more that I don't loathe the very sight of you. Honestly, I don't know what I was thinking to even fake it this long!"

Draco's features seemed carved in ice. It had taken weeks to thaw the hard, cold shell he had encased himself in and it had taken her a single instant to erect those walls again. She abhorred herself in that moment. She felt sick.

"I see," he said softly. "Well. Thank you for clarifying that. Your logic, as always, is impeccable."

"Just go, Draco," she begged. She trembled with the effort of holding back her tears. She could barely speak.

He spun on a heel and left. As the door slammed behind him, Hermione collapsed. She wept as if her soul had been ripped from her body. She pulled her knees up to her chin and rocked like a lost child.

God, how could she live with herself after that?


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

Draco had never been more furious in his life. He stalked into the corridor and stopped, looking at the long row of windows as though he'd never seen them before.

What the hell had happened to him? He actually felt—hurt! In fact, he felt worse than hurt. He felt as if Crabbe had kicked him in the stomach. Several times. It suddenly dawned on him that he had stupidly allowed himself to get close to Granger. He had actually begun to _care_ for the filthy little mudblood.

He laughed shortly, without humor. In a way, he owed the little bitch for the wakeup call. He should thank her for bringing him back to his senses. To echo her words, _God_, _what had he been thinking_?"

He congratulated himself on his return to normal and smiled the hateful sneer he knew _she_ despised. Yes, Draco Malfoy was back.

He reached for his wand, suddenly overwhelmed with the need to smash out every window in the corridor. He needed to feel the frigid air on his face.

He gripped his wand, but suddenly it wasn't enough. He needed to hurt someone the way he had been hurt. He needed to hurt _her_. He took several deep, angry breaths, fighting the urge to go back, half-afraid of what he might do.

He took four determined steps away from the door that suddenly loomed like the gateway to his own personal hell.

_Just go, Draco_, she had said.

Not _Malfoy_, but _Draco_.

"Fuck!" he snarled and turned around.

Draco stalked into the room, expecting Hermione to be tidying up, perhaps humming a happy tune and patting herself on the back. Instead, she was huddled on the floor sobbing hysterically.

He froze.

After a moment, she either heard him, or sensed his presence.

"I thought you had gone," she said in a thick whisper and wiped her eyes with a sleeve.

"I came back for something," he murmured. His white-hot rage had lessened at the unexpected sight of her crying. Draco tried to process the fact. Not just crying, but sobbing like someone had broken her favorite toy. She had yelled at him with purely clinical calculation, as emotionless as a golem. Why, then…? He fingered his wand in puzzlement.

_Just go, Draco_, she had said. And yet she had never before called him by his first name.

She sniffed loudly, obviously trying to bring herself back under control.

"Get what you came for and feel free to depart," she said haughtily after clearing her throat, but the words were still barely audible.

"I came back to give you a piece of my mind. But now I'm trying to determine why you're upset," he said as though he read aloud from an interesting newspaper article. "You were completely calm while telling me your reasons for never wanting to see my face again. Not a single tear as you listed the many reasons I deserve your everlasting hatred. Every bloody word was calculated to hit me like little poisoned arrows. You succeeded quite nicely in that, as you well know. It was the _deluded_ that got me. Everything else was pretty much dead on true, but to hint that I was delusional—very clever. And to mention that you've been pretending all this time. Truly an excellent performance. Quite according to plan, I would say. So, I have to ask myself. Why is she crying?"

Draco turned around and looked at her through narrowed eyes. Hermione got to her feet. She wrapped her arms around herself as if to ward off a chill. He walked over and halted in front of her. She refused to look at him. Her eyes were tightly shut above cheeks wet with tears. He stopped in front of her.

"Look at me, Granger," he snarled. She opened her eyes and stared at him miserably. He nodded with satisfaction. "Just as I thought. I know why you're crying."

She shook her head in denial and started to back away. He followed her like a stalking beast. The rage he had felt in the corridor had changed into a simmering anger. His voice was a hoarse whisper.

"Oh yes. I do. You're upset because you _lied_, aren't you? Tell me that's not the reason. Little Miss Paragon of Gryffindor Virtue lied through her teeth and now it's killing her! Isn't it, _Mi_? You don't think I'm 'Slytherin scum' at all, do you? I'm sure you think I'm spoiled, bigoted, and self-centered, but I'm starting to bet you rather like me that way."

She continued to shake her head and she glanced at the door as though she would love to bolt, but she had backed herself straight into the wall and Draco persistently advanced on her until she was pressed flat against the stone and his face was a bare inch from hers. She trembled like a terrified kitten and her chest heaved in near panic.

"You don't hate me, either. Do you, Mi?" he asked softly. Her eyes looked huge in the dim light. "_Do you_?"

"I don't hate you, Draco," she admitted in a whisper and tears trickled down her face. Triumph flooded his senses and he crushed her against the wall roughly, trapping her in place with his hips. His hands gently cupped her face. He leaned down and kissed her.

Hermione would have collapsed if Draco's body hadn't held her in place. Her already overloaded senses couldn't cope with his assault. Her legs felt ineffective. She didn't even try to think; instead she wrapped her arms around his neck in a useless attempt to keep herself from drowning. She was already too far gone for that. His kiss was electrifying, bruising her lips as he tasted her with a nearly savage intensity. She whimpered, but held on tightly when he would have pulled away. She deserved whatever penance he inflicted on her, after what she had done to him. She clung to him and pushed her hands into his hair, marveling at the incredible softness of it.

His kiss changed from punishing to tender. He nibbled at her lips and caressed them with his tongue. Her blood felt like it was on fire. His mouth left hers and slid down her neck, leaving a trail of heat that ignited an inferno in her loins. She needed him to stop. His hands were sliding down her body… under her shirt… hot, so hot on her skin. His mouth was creeping downward past her collarbone. She wondered dimly where her tie had gone… and the buttons on her shirt… God. She tried feebly to speak, but nothing came from her lips but a moan of desire.

Draco pushed away from her suddenly and she nearly reeled at the loss of support. She sagged against the wall as he disentangled her hands from his hair and took several steps backward. He panted and swallowed hard as Hermione struggled to remain standing. Without the wall for stability, she would have collapsed. The air felt cold as ice where his searing body had recently pressed.

He drew in a ragged breath.

"Well, I think we've firmly established that you do not, indeed, hate me," he said lightly. She actually laughed, though the sound bordered on hysteria.

"No, I definitely lied about that," she whispered.

"Why?"

She stared at him. "After what just happened? How can you ask me that? I'm terrified of you!"

He looked thoroughly puzzled. She somehow found the strength to push herself off the wall. She trembled uncontrollably and her teeth began to chatter, but as long as he stayed a safe distance away…

"I'm terrified that everyone can see how I feel when I look at you. I can't stop thinking about you. I can't keep my eyes off of you—surely you've noticed! I watch for you constantly. I can't think at all without thoughts of you intruding. I can't eat—I've taken in my skirts three times, now. I can't sleep without dreaming about you. I feel like an inferi half the time."

He stepped toward her and she backed into the wall again, hard, and lifted a hand to ward him off. He halted. She angrily blinked at the tears that filled her eyes again.

"You stay right there. I won't be responsible for my actions if you touch me again." It sounded like a threat, but it was a plea. If he touched her again she would give herself to him without the slightest fight. She knew it, and all the rationalization in the world wouldn't change the fact. "Don't you see? We _can't_ be together. It just won't work. No matter how much I wish it were otherwise."

"We've been doing fine so far," he said stonily.

"You know that won't last, Draco. Sooner or later we'll be found out. And then what will we do? You have to face reality."

He ran a hand through his already mussed hair. She closed her eyes, remembering the gossamer softness of it. When she opened her eyes again, he walked toward her. The pulse in her throat jumped wildly. She gasped when he raised a hand to touch her face.

"Promise you'll meet me again," he said. She shook her head.

"I can't."

"If you don't promise, I'll kiss you until you do," he warned. She shut her eyes, knowing that would take about half a millisecond.

"I promise," she gritted.

"Good little Gryffindor," he said in a superior tone. She felt his lips touch hers again and his teeth nibbled her lower lip for a moment. She was instantly dizzy.

And then he was gone.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

When Draco exited the room the second time, he was in a far better frame of mind. He found himself whistling one of Hermione's tunes as he strolled.

She didn't hate him! He laughed in amazement at the thought of her response to his kiss. Bloody hell, he had nearly lost all control. The mere remembrance of it sent the heat rising through his blood again and he spun on a heel and detoured to the roof garden. The day was clear, but so ice cold there was a slick layer of frost on the shadowed portions of the floor.

Draco welcomed the chill. He breathed deeply and felt nettles of pain prick his lungs. He expelled a white fog of breath and ran a hand through his hair, only to find it hopelessly tangled. He smiled ruefully at the memory of Hermione's hands in it. He absently cast a spell that put every hair back into place.

He sobered as her words returned to him. He had been furious, but he understood why she had tried to hurt him. She was right. What they were doing was risky for both of them. He still found it hard to believe he had gotten so involved. It had started as a simple amusement. He had only planned to toy with the mudblood. He winced. It was difficult for him to even think of her the way he had before.

He had gradually accepted his attraction to her as a mere physical response, a sensual animal instinct. But it had grown into something more than physical, something he was not prepared to accept. Hearing her sobs earlier had made him want to pick her up and hold her, which amazed him. He'd heard females cry before and it had always annoyed him. He knew they used tears as a weapon. Hermione's had been different; she had never intended him to see them.

He sighed explosively and watched his breath cloud slowly dissipate. He should try to consider what would happen if they were seen together. What would he do? He laughed bitterly, knowing Hermione had been right. He would most likely rip her to shreds rather than admit he was in…_volved_ with a muggleborn.

He was suddenly disgusted with himself at the thought and started back inside. Knowing that she would stand up in her brave little Gryffindor manner and admit to a relationship with him only made him feel that much worse.

He scowled as he walked down the stairs. Where was his self-control? She was just a girl. He didn't need her. She was right. It would never work. He resolved to stay away from her. She would understand.

Hermione was walking to the Gryffindor common room from the library when a hand reached out from the shadows and yanked her behind a suit of armor. She reached for her wand to teach her attacker a lesson, but both her wrists were held against the wall by strong hands. She suddenly recognized Draco's scent and sagged in relief. He always smelled clean and somewhat spicy, like fresh basil and summertime.

"Draco," she breathed. "It's been five days. I thought you didn't want to see me any more."

He gripped her wrists more tightly.

"I didn't. I tried to stay away from you, but after Potions today…"

She chuckled throatily. "That was pure evil," she admitted. "I am deeply ashamed of myself."

"Deeply," he repeated dubiously.

"You were ignoring me," she explained.

"It was _your_ idea."

"I hated every minute of it."

"Me too," he said and captured her lips with his.

Thus ended their five day trial separation, but things grew far more complicated thereafter.

Hermione couldn't believe she was sneaking out after hours _without_ Harry and Ron. She also couldn't believe she had "borrowed" the Marauder's Map from Harry without his knowledge. She had nearly taken his invisibility cloak, but couldn't quite bring herself to take something so personal. She would never forgive herself if it were confiscated by her being caught.

She stepped out of the painting door, glanced around furtively, and tapped the map with her wand.

"_I solemnly swear that I am up to no good_," she whispered, noting that in this instance it was absolutely true.

"I'll say," admonished the Fat Lady. Hermione wondered if the painting would feel obligated to report her.

"I'm meeting a boy," she admitted. The Fat Lady gasped happily and clapped hands to her cheeks.

"I remember! Your secret love," she breathed. "Well, run along then and be careful of Peeves. Mum's the word!"

Hermione smiled gratefully, checked the map, and ran.

Even with the map, Hermione had a hard time avoiding Filch, his annoying cat, Peeves, and other wandering teachers on her way to meet Draco. She began to wonder if _any_ of the adults ever went to bed!

Draco waited for her in the corridor with the windows. It looked amazing by night when the moonlight made gothic patches of bluish light on the floor and highlighted the statues in their niches. She paused for a moment and studied him as he gazed out at the lake. He looked like a beautiful statue himself as he leaned casually against the window embrasure. He had taken off his black robe and it dangled from one hand onto the floor in a dark pool. He was dressed in all black tonight, the better for sneaking, no doubt, though he would vehemently swear that Malfoys did _not_ sneak. The shirt was vaguely pirate-like, open at the neck. Its billowing sleeves gathered at the cuffs with a long row of silver buttons. His black pants were tight, as usual, and hugged his buttocks and legs to maximum effect. He wore black boots that he had spelled in order to make no noise when he walked. His hair shone silver in the moonlight.

She sighed and almost wished he weren't so heartbreakingly gorgeous.

He must have heard the sigh, for he turned and grinned wickedly.

"Naughty little Gryffindor, sneaking about after hours?" he asked and clucked his tongue as though it weren't his idea to begin with. "I'll have to think of a suitable punishment for you."

She walked into his arms with hopeless abandon. She smiled.

"How about kissing me to death?"

"That works for me," he breathed and set to it.

Pansy Parkinson watched through narrowed eyes as Draco entered the Slytherin common room at a ridiculous hour of the morning. It was obvious he'd been out all night and it was equally obvious he'd been with someone, given the mangled state of his hair and the fact that he was whistling softly. Draco Malfoy never whistled. Pansy nearly stood and confronted him, but she knew he would deftly turn the tables on her and make her begin to doubt her own eyes. He was an accomplished liar. She began to tally up all of his strange disappearances over the past couple of months; his excuses; his casual explanations; his odd behavior. She found it difficult to breathe through the rage that gripped her.

He didn't notice her sitting in the shadows near the banked fire and walked on to his room. Before he disappeared, she heard a snatch of song.

She didn't recognize it, but the words were apt. His love _was_ like bad medicine.


	14. Chapter 14

Authors Note: I just love CAPSLOCK Harry! I have to put at least a few screaming lines in every story, in tribute to Order of the Phoenix…

Chapter Fourteen

Hermione stared blearily at Harry, quite unable to comprehend his question. He sat across from her in the Gryffindor common room, which was empty but for the two of them. He had sent Ron off on an errand to the kitchen to fetch Hermione breakfast, which she'd missed by lolling in bed half the morning. The other Gryffindors were outside enjoying the snow that still clung to the ground from a dumping three days prior.

"_Who is he_?" Harry repeated.

"I've no idea what you're talking about." Hermione sniffed and took a gulp of her hot cocoa. She winced as it burned her tongue.

"You're a wretched liar," Harry observed. "I saw you this morning sneaking the Marauder's Map back into my trunk. Where did you go?"

For once in her life, Hermione was speechless. She was also exhausted. She and Draco had managed not to snog the entire night, though her lips felt like they had. Just when she would begin to lose all semblance of control, Draco would pull back, stalk far out of reach, and they would discuss trivial subjects until both could breathe normally again. Neither was quite willing to cross that barrier, as their relationship was far too fragile as it was. They had retired to what they had dubbed the Music Room and spent most of the night listening to songs, dancing, or sitting on the couch huddled together while they talked about various Gryffindors or Slytherins. It was the first time Hermione remembered actually talking with him and was pleasantly surprised to discover there was a lot more to Draco Malfoy than met the eye.

She could not, of course, admit that to Harry Potter. Especially when he glared at her like he was now.

"Erm…"

"Come on, Hermione, after all we've been through? Trolls. Basilisks. Trelawney. You know all about my Cho Chang fiasco and you had that little fling with Viktor Krum last year… Who could possibly be worse than him? It has to be a Ravenclaw, they're the only ones smart enough for you… Terry Boot? Eddie Carmichael? Chambers?"

She glared at him stonily.

"Hufflepuffs, then? Can't be Cedric Diggory, since, you know, the Cho thing… Wayne Hopkins? Zacharias Smith?" Harry made a face at that. "No, not Smith. You don't plan to tell me, do you?"

"Are you going to name everyone in the school?" she asked mildly.

"Well, it can't be a Slytherin. Unless it's Blaise Zabini, some girls say he's handsome…"

"He hates muggleborns," she reminded him.

"Don't they all? How about Miles Bletchley, he's not as bad as some of those Slytherins…"

"No," she said firmly.

Harry sat back with an explosive sigh. "Fine! Don't tell me then! I suppose I don't care anyway, as long as it's not Draco Malfoy—"

Hermione choked on her hot chocolate and was horrified to find her cheeks growing hot. She glanced at Harry guiltily to find his face pale as a ghost.

"You. Have. Got. To. Be. Joking," he choked out.

She swallowed hard and looked at him miserably. She shook her head.

Harry leaped to his feet. His green eyes flashed emerald rage.

"HOW THE HELL CAN YOU BE SEEING DRACO MALFOY?" he bellowed. "ARE YOU COMPLETELY MENTAL?"

She stood up and gripped her mug so tightly she thought it would shatter.

"_Why don't you just announce it to the entire school_?" she yelled.

"WHY DON'T _YOU_ IF YOU'RE SO KEEN ON THE HORRIBLE LITTLE DEATH EATER WANNABE?" Harry hollered. Hermione suddenly wanted to hit him. She'd known he would take it like this, which was why she had never planned to tell him.

"Frankly, Harry, it's none of your damned business," she snapped haughtily. He reacted as though she _had_ slapped him. He gasped and stared at her with a look of pure astonishment before his brows lowered in a furious glare. He nodded abruptly.

"You're right," he said in a voice that shook with rage. "None of my business. Just remember, if you shut me out now, no one will be there to pick up the pieces when he crushes your heart in his cold little fist."

Ron chose that moment to enter the common room with a plate piled high with pastries and fruit. He stopped at gaped at them. The air crackled with tension. Harry pushed past him and stormed out of the room. Hermione sagged onto the couch in despair.

"Did I miss something?" Ron asked in puzzlement.

Harry felt like a complete idiot for not having noticed it sooner. Now that he knew, the secretive interaction between Hermione and Draco Malfoy was like a subtle game known only to them. Harry watched them surreptitiously as he played a game of wizard's chess with Ron. Harry wasn't speaking to Hermione and refused to tell Ron why, so Ron was getting revenge by slaughtering Harry on the chess board.

A few Slytherins sat at a table in the library, defacing books and giggling just quietly enough to keep from being thrown out. Draco sat next to Pansy Parkinson and seemed to be quite absorbed in a large book.

Hermione sat with Neville and Ginny Weasley at a nearby table. As Harry watched, Hermione picked up the copy of Advanced Transfiguration she had been reading (even though Harry knew she had her own copy in her room) and carried it around the corner. She returned with Dangerous Draughts of Doom and sat down.

About five minutes later, Malfoy got up and disappeared into the shelves. He returned empty-handed a moment later. Harry was willing to wager he had a piece of parchment stuffed into a pocket with Hermione's handwriting on it. As he passed Hermione, Draco muttered, "Nasty mudblood."

Hermione replied, "Pureblood pig."

But when Draco sat down, Harry noticed an amused smiled playing about his lips. Hermione coughed and covered her mouth with a hand. Her eyes sparkled mischievously. Harry had the distinct impression that the insults were now code words for endearments. He couldn't quite wrap his brain around the fact that Draco Malfoy was actually _seeing_ Hermione. Secretly, but willingly.

Pansy Parkinson suddenly stood up, gathered her things, and stormed from the room. Hermione looked at Draco in astonishment. He moved his shoulders in the slightest hint of a shrug and the usual sardonic smirk twisted his mouth. Hermione bit her lip and looked at Harry. Harry rolled his eyes. He glanced at Malfoy again to find the Slytherin staring at him suspiciously. Harry glared. Malfoy sneered.

"Are you going to move or not?" Ron demanded suddenly.

"Not," Harry decided. "Let's get out of here. All this silent communication is driving me crazy."

Hermione was perched on a divan in a semi-deserted corridor with her Ancient Runes textbook propped on her lap. Behind her loomed a huge statue of Bridget Winlock, a famous Arithmancer, tucked into a large niche behind the divan. Lying on his back next to Bridget's stone skirts was Draco Malfoy. He was invisible to passersby due to the iron scrollwork around the base of the statue that completely hid him from view. It was one of the few places in the school where they could converse without being discovered.

"…thinking about staying here for Christmas although Mother would probably go into a complete panic thinking I didn't love her any more," Draco was saying. "It's bloody cold in this alcove today."

"Want me to climb up there and warm you up?" she asked teasingly.

"I've asked you six times already."

Hermione giggled. "I know if I do, when I come out I'll look like I've been hit with a whirlwind charm."

"It's not my fault you can't manage to keep your clothes on around me."

She gasped in outrage. "Of course it's your fault!"

A first-year Hufflepuff walked by and looked at her curiously. Hermione smiled as though it were perfectly normal for her to be seen talking to herself. She heard a slight rustle and knew Draco had rolled over onto his stomach.

"I'm _really_ cold, Mi," he said plaintively. She groaned. He had to be lying. She knew damned well he never got cold. His body temperature seemed to be several degrees above normal. At least, his skin always felt hot to her. She shivered and set the book aside. Before she could move, she spotted Harry approaching.

"Diffindo," she said quietly, the signal for Draco to be silent. She expected Harry to walk past her without acknowledgment, since he was still enraged, but to her surprise he stopped in front of her. His green eyes moved about suspiciously.

"Odd place to study," he commented.

"It's a bit cold in the Gryffindor common room these days," she said flatly.

"Well, it would be, wouldn't it?" he snapped.

"Did you just stop to yell at me some more?" she asked. Harry tugged at his black hair.

"No. I wanted to tell you that… well, you already know what you're doing is stupid… and I won't pretend to approve…"

She waited, knowing Harry had a bloody difficult time getting his point across when he was agitated. He yanked his hair again, though it was already sticking out in a dozen directions.

"Damn it, what I mean to say is I was wrong before. About not being there for you. Because I will. No matter what happens." He took a deep breath. "There. I've said it. All right?"

Hermione nearly knocked him over with an exuberant hug. Tears sparkled in her eyes. She swallowed hard.

"I love you, Harry," she murmured so only he could hear. "You're the best friend ever."

Harry patted her back awkwardly and coughed. "Yes, well, just be bloody careful. And if you need me to… _Crucio _anyone… well, just call." She released him and he grinned ruefully and left. She gazed after him fondly for a moment.

"Potter knows, doesn't he?"

She nodded.

Draco said, "Yes, I caught the _Crucio_ reference. I'm sure he'd be only too willing to turn me into a tiny pile of ash for you."

"Well, you'll just have to be nice to me then, won't you?"

"I'm not afraid of Potter," he scoffed. "But if you come here and warm me up, I'll show you how nice I can be."

She went.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

Hermione actually watched the Quidditch match the next afternoon, since Harry, Ron, and Draco were all playing. The animosity between Draco and Harry seemed to have intensified and they yelled and banged into each other and made feinting dives to fool one another throughout the game. At one point, the Snitch hovered directly above them and it took a bellow from Angelina to stop them shouting at one another and pay attention. By then the Snitch had disappeared. Hermione sighed. Males.

She got rather bored watching the game itself and quite lost track of the points, although she was having a nice time watching Draco on his broom. It was a good thing he never got cold because the Quidditch pitch was covered with snow and Hermione was freezing huddled in a warm fur cloak with earmuffs.

Harry and Draco both hurtled forward and turned sharply. They went past the stands in a blur of red and green and then swung upwards. Draco seemed to be flying better than ever, pacing Harry. It would be a true race to see who caught it today—

"_Look out_!"

The cry came from a dozen throats and Draco spun through the air like a rag doll as the Bludger smashed into him from below. He hurtled to the ground as his broom spun off in another direction. Harry spun quicker than thought and tried to catch him, but it was too late. Draco slammed into the snow-covered ground.

Hermione couldn't even scream. She didn't remember running to the field, but she shoved aside everyone in her path until she collapsed on her knees beside Draco. There was blood on the snow. Harry knelt on Draco's other side. His green eyes met hers helplessly, until he was shoved aside by Pansy Parkinson.

"Get away from him, mudblood," she said venomously.

Hermione ignored her and touched the back of Draco's head gently and felt blood oozing from a wound on the back of his skull. She pressed her hand against the wound tightly, trying to staunch the bleeding. He was still as death and nearly as pale as the snow that cradled him.

"Where is Madam Pomfrey?" she asked hoarsely.

"Coming," Harry said.

Hermione leaned down until her lips brushed Draco's ear.

"Hold on, love," she begged softly. "Please hold on."

She heard a tiny sound and sat up in surprise.

Draco's grey eyes were open.

"Mi," he said quietly and smiled gently.

Hermione burst into tears. Thankfully, Madame Pomfrey arrived at that moment and bustled the onlookers aside, including Pansy and Hermione.

"Excellent work controlling the bleeding, Miss Granger," Pomfrey said matter of factly and cast a number of spells on Draco. Then she levitated him and marched him off the field to the hospital wing. Pansy gave Hermione a look of unadulterated venom and hurried after them. Hermione got to her feet and looked at Harry, who grinned widely.

"I'm not quite sure how you plan to explain that little scene," he said quietly, "but I'm certain it will be the talk of the school for awhile."

Hermione would have buried her face in her hands, but one of them was drenched in Draco's blood. She felt suddenly ill. Harry clapped an arm over her shoulders and they followed the crowd of onlookers off the field.

There was a hushed silence when Hermione and Harry entered the common room. Hermione felt a blush rise to her cheeks and suddenly knew how Harry felt whenever he was introduced to strangers. But these people were supposed to be her friends.

"Way to save Malfoy," Katie Bell said accusingly.

Anger squelched Hermione's embarrassment. "Would you rather I'd let him die?" she demanded hotly. Several "yeses" echoed in the room and Hermione glared around angrily. "Well, that's a bloody fine attitude! I hope if you're ever badly injured a crowd of onlookers doesn't stand around and let you bleed to death!"

"Helping is one thing," Fred Weasley said, "but you made it out of the stands and over to Draco like you _Apparated_."

"Rather looked like you were worried about the git," George added.

Hermione sighed. "I don't really care what it looked like. I would have done the same for you. You lot can stand around gossiping all you like. I'm going upstairs."

Ron stepped up. "Clear off!" he bellowed. "Listen to yourselves, why don't you? Hermione and _Malfoy_? How bloody ridiculous can you get? Think about it."

The other Gryffindors actually looked sheepish and Hermione shot Ron a grateful look, though it was tinged with guilt because she knew Ron stood up for her only because he didn't know the truth. She looked at Harry, who sighed.

"What's the big deal? The game was called, so we'll have to replay them next week. If Malfoy can't fly, they'll have to get another Seeker."

The talk instantly turned to Quidditch and Hermione quickly made her escape. She threw herself on the bed and buried her face in the pillow. She couldn't even go to the hospital wing to see if Draco was all right. Tears pricked her eyes.

"You're in love with him, aren't you?" someone asked behind her. She sat up to find Ginny Weasley sitting on Padma's bed watching her.

"What?" Hermione asked and rubbed the heel of her hand across her eyes.

"Draco Malfoy. You're in love with him."

Hermione wouldn't deny it. Ginny shook her head and sighed.

"I don't envy you. It's hard enough loving Harry, and he's not an arrogant, bigoted, wicked monster of pure evil."

"Thanks… I think."

Ginny nodded. "It's nearly time for supper."

"I'm not hungry."

"You should come down and try to pretend that everything is normal. Otherwise, you'll just be giving credence to the rumors."

Hermione rubbed her temples to dispel her growing headache, but knew Ginny was right.

Supper was sheer torture. Hermione felt a constant barrage of stares, although much of it was probably paranoia. Her food tasted like ashes, but she forced herself to eat it, struggling for normalcy. She glanced over at the Slytherin table and felt a pang of loss. Draco should be there, shooting her a hateful glare and a sneer that she would return with a suppressed smile.

She noted Pansy Parkinson's absence. The Slytherin snot was probably lingering at Draco's bedside, brushing his pale hair away from his perfect forehead and placing wet kisses on his lips. Jealousy nearly blinded her for a moment and she pushed her plate away. She couldn't take any more.

Harry took pity on her and accompanied her back to Gryffindor tower. Thankfully, Ron was in a serious discussion with Seamus and promised to join them later, so it was just her and Harry walking through the halls.

"He'll be fine," Harry said and shot her a worried glance.

Hermione shook her head miserably.

"This is the worst thing I've ever been through in my life," she admitted. "I'd rather take on another troll. Or a basilisk. Or You-Know-Who. I'd rather do just about anything than be in love with Draco Malfoy. I never wanted it to happen, but now that it has… I don't know. He's so different when we're alone."

"I should hope so," Harry muttered. "Otherwise I'd think you were crazy."

"Don't you already?"

"Well… yeah," Harry said supportively.

Hermione giggled. "I can always count on you to be honest."

She was lying in her bed an hour later, unable to sleep, when Ginny slipped in and tossed her a package.

"From Harry," she whispered and left.

Hermione sat up and opened the package. What she saw made her want to run to the boys' dorm and kiss Harry a dozen times.

It was his invisibility cloak.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

She ran all the way to the hospital wing. She had forced herself to wait until everyone was asleep before she fled Gryffindor tower.

As the door silently opened, she reflected back on how many times she had been in the hospital wing. Usually to visit Harry, who had been in the hospital ward more than anyone she knew. Attacked by Quirrell/Voldemort, attacked by dementors, bitten by a basilisk, arm bones removed by an egomaniac teacher… the list seemed endless.

Curtains had been drawn around the beds for privacy, but the ward seemed largely deserted. Only three other beds were occupied and they were all far apart. Behind the second curtain she located Draco.

As soon as she saw his pale head on the pillow, she flung herself at him and held him tightly. She lay down next to him and pressed her head to his chest to prove to herself that his heart still beat.

"Mi?" she heard and raised her head.

"Thank God," she murmured. "I've been so worried!"

She planted her lips on his as if she could give her life force to him through a kiss. When she released him he said, "I missed you this afternoon."

"I would have been here if I could. I nearly came, anyway. I just didn't want to do that to you. Without your… knowledge."

"You're here now." His eyes closed and he sighed. He seemed very tired.

"I'm here now," she agreed and laid her head on his chest again. She could feel his heartbeat, slow and steady, beneath her cheek.

"I think they drugged me to help me sleep. Everything feels fuzzy. Pomfrey healed my skull, but a specialist from St. Mungo's will be here tomorrow to make certain I don't have any brain damage."

Hermione raised her head and looked at him wickedly. She peeled the covers back slowly to expose his nightshirt.

"What are you doing?" he asked as she started undoing the buttons. She kissed a trail behind her hands as they unfastened each button in turn. He gasped when she reached his navel and dipped her tongue into it.

"I don't think I'm quite strong enough for this torture," he protested hoarsely. She chuckled throatily and slid back up to lay her head on his chest again. His heartbeat was no longer slow.

"I find nothing wrong with your physical responses," she said matter-of-factly.

"Oh, so that was just a test?" he asked.

"Certainly. Very clinical. It had no effect on me whatsoever."

"Then why are you trembling?"

"How do you always know when I'm lying?"

"Because you're the worst liar I've ever known?" he suggested.

"No, that can't be it."

She sighed happily, snuggled even closer to his prone form and promptly fell asleep with his hands tangled in her hair.

She awoke with a gasp, partially aware that something had startled her. For a dizzying moment, she had no idea where she was. She raised her head and awareness of her surroundings returned with a jolt.

Goodness! What if they had tried to check on Draco during the night? The invisibility cloak only partly covered her. She glanced out the window. The faint light of dawn was tinting the horizon. She had to get back to Gryffindor tower!

She sat up and paused to detach Draco's fingers from her hair. As she pulled the last plait free she saw that he was awake. A pleased grin curved his lips.

"Thanks for staying," he murmured.

"I'll be back tonight, if you're still here," she promised.

"I'll count the moments."

She laughed without humor. "No, you won't. You'll have Pansy in here to take my place." She clapped a hand over her mouth, astounded at the venom in her voice.

"You're jealous of Pansy?" He sounded incredulous. She got to her feet and shook out the invisibility cloak.

"You're surprised?" she asked bitterly. "Yes, I'm jealous! I'm jealous of every instant she spends with you. When I see her sitting with you at breakfast I want to walk over and snatch her hair out of her head. When I see her holding your hand in the courtyard I want to turn her into a horklump! I despise her because she can be seen with you in the daylight, in the halls, in the classrooms, and I can only be with you in secret, in the dark, in… visible." She clutched the cloak. "And yet, I cannot completely hate her. I can't hate her for loving you, because I don't blame her for that. I understand how she feels." She took a deep breath and continued softly, "You see… I love you, too."

Draco's expression was one of pure shock. Hermione pulled on the cloak and fled.

They kept Draco in the hospital wing for the next three days, although Hermione could attest to the fact that he was quite well. Both nights she slipped in to join him and on the final night she barely escaped with her virtue intact. The modest flannel nightgown she wore under the cloak wasn't nearly so modest after his hand slipped under the hem and caressed a path up her thigh to cup her buttock. All the while his lips played havoc with her senses as they teased and tasted her mouth in a symphony of pleasure. She could hardly believe the things he could do with his tongue! Thank God she had cast a circle of silence around his bed so they could talk or the other hospital residents would surely have awakened to her animal mewls of pleasure.

She felt like a mindless creature of pure passion, alternately burning hot and ice cold as his hands stroked her skin. At once, she became aware that her nightgown was bunched completely beneath her breasts and Draco's hands were entering dangerous territory. In four more seconds there would be no turning back…

With all the strength left in her limbs she shoved herself off of him. She hit the floor so hard she bruised a hip and her teeth clicked down on her tongue with a snap. She stared at him, panting hard and tasting blood.

He sat up and looked at her.

"I thought you loved me," he said hoarsely. He sounded so much like the old Draco that she fairly gasped at the brutality of his words. She launched herself to her feet.

"How _dare_ you use that against me?" she hissed.

He collapsed back onto the pillow and thrust a hand through his silvery hair with a frustrated sigh.

"I'm sorry."

She crossed her arms and glared at him defiantly.

"I mean it. I shouldn't have said that. I'm just… I want you so badly. It's making me somewhat crazy, I'm afraid," he said. He held out a hand to her. "Come back here."

She backed away warily.

"I should go."

He sat up again.

"Seriously, Mi. I'm very sorry." When she didn't move, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed in preparation to rise. "Don't make me chase you."

"I'm sure you can barely walk after three days in bed," she said practically, but took a few more steps backward.

"Then, I'll fall and it will be your fault."

He placed his hands on the bed to push himself to his feet and she flung out a protesting hand.

"You stay right there!"

"Come here and I will."

"I can't. I can't trust myself around you! If you touch me again I'll completely fall apart." She clutched the cloak tightly in distress, bunching it in front of her like a shield. "I don't even know who I am anymore! All I can think about is _you_. I've become your mindless slave!"

Draco made a tsking noise.

"Mindless, hardly. You're constantly thinking," he said.

"Well, one of us has to!"

"Why?" he demanded. "Why can't you just accept what's happened between us?"

"What exactly _has_ happened between us, Draco? We can't even put a name to our relationship! I've stupidly allowed myself to fall in love with you even though I know it can only lead to heartbreak and you… well, I've no idea what you feel for me, other than a most obvious case of lust! I sometimes think you want only to sleep with me in order to cure this unwanted curse of desire that you're afflicted with!" As soon as the words left her lips Hermione drew in a horrified breath. Draco was silent, which gave an appalling credence to her words. She felt suddenly, wretchedly stupid.

"_Finite incantatum_," she choked to end the spell of silence.

"Mi—" Draco began.

"_Don't call me that_!" she hissed and bolted before the tears could start.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

Hermione avoided Draco for the next few days. She took her meals in the common room, informing Harry and the others that she needed to study, and spent much of her time buried in books before the Gryffindor fire. She avoided the library, even if she needed to look something up. Several times she sent Neville or Ginny out to bring her a specific tome. Ginny thankfully said nothing about her newfound hermitlike tendencies.

Classes were the worst torture. She survived by arriving at the last possible instant and fleeing as soon as class ended. She avoided all attempts by Draco to catch her eye. She skirted all alcoves in which he could hide. He went so far as to blatantly drop a note on her table in Herbology, but she immediately snatched it up and incinerated it, unread.

Harry let her be, but Ron noticed her skittish behavior with puzzlement.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he asked one evening. "You usually have your head buried in a book, but this is ridiculous. You won't come visit Hagrid with us, you run from half our classes like your skirt is on fire, and you scurry through the halls like a bloody acromantula! You won't eat—look at yourself. You're wasting away."

"Leave it, Ron," Harry warned.

"No, I won't leave it; what is wrong with her, anyway?" He looked from Harry to Hermione and back with narrowed eyes. "You bloody well know, don't you? What's so damned secret you have to keep it from me?"

Harry shrugged. Hermione dropped her gaze, unable to meet his eyes.

"Well, come on. Spill it or I'll… I'll walk out of here and never speak to either of you again."

"Hermione's in love," Harry said woodenly. She gasped until she remembered she hadn't sworn him to secrecy. And it really was unfair not to tell Ron. Except that Ron would not be nearly so understanding as Harry, since he hated Malfoy with a deep and abiding passion.

Ron sat down hard next to Hermione.

"You're joking."

She glared. "Is it that hard to imagine?" she demanded.

Ron coughed. "Erm… no, it's just… Is it Viktor Krum?"

Hermione shook her head. She had barely thought of Krum since his departure back to Durmstrang.

"Someone at Hogwarts?" Ron queried.

Hermione nodded. Ron looked at Harry with eyes narrowed.

"Someone I wouldn't approve of, or you would have said something by now. Or Harry would have."

Hermione blushed and Harry nodded grimly.

"Is it Harry?"

They both gaped at him and then at each other. Hermione burst out laughing.

"You wouldn't approve if she were in love with _me_?"

Ron flushed scarlet.

"Well, I wouldn't have… disapproved, exactly. I mean, if you were in love it would be…" He scowled. "Frankly, it would be a bit weird."

"Fear not," Harry said snappishly. "She's not in love with me."

"Hopefully, I'd ken if it were _me_, so I'm guessing… a Ravenclaw. Terry Boot? Carmichael? Chambers?"

His guesses were so identical to Harry's that she could only stare in amazement.

"No? A Hufflepuff, then? Cedric Diggory? Everyone thinks he's a catch since the whole Tri-Wizard Tournament, you know. Even Ginny was goggling at him. Zacharias Smith?"

"It's Draco Malfoy," Harry said, apparently unable to stand the suspense any longer.

Hermione winced and waited for the explosion.

"Seriously," Ron said. "Who is it?"

It took another fifteen minutes for them to convince Ron that they were absolutely not joking. By then Hermione was nearly in tears and Harry's hair was much more disheveled than usual. Ron, surprisingly, did not even shout. He just sat on the couch and kept repeating two words until Hermione felt like screaming.

"Draco Malfoy. Draco. Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."

"Ron, I'm going to petrify you and put you in bed if you don't assimilate this and be done with it," she threatened finally.

"But _how_ did it happen?" he asked with a glare. "Did he cast a spell on you? Or give you a love potion, or…"

She wished she could use the love potion defense. At least Ron could forgive her for that. She shook her head.

"It just happened, Ron. I didn't expect it and I don't want it. He doesn't love me, as you might well imagine, so I've been avoiding him. Eventually I'll get over it."

Ron heaved a sigh of relief.

"Well that's the first intelligent thing I've heard in the past few minutes. Good plan. You just stay in here for as long as it takes to get over the git." He reached over and patted her hand helpfully. "Maybe Harry can fix you up with Cedric Diggory."

"I think I'll work on one problem at a time, if you don't mind, Ronald," she said dryly.

Ron might have thought it a good plan, but her self-imposed exile drove her stir-crazy after awhile. The walls of Gryffindor tower began to close in on her. One night, she woke from a nightmare of Draco calling her name.

She sat up and tried to rub the tiredness from her eyes. She knew she wouldn't get back to sleep, so she got up and shrugged her school robe on over her nightgown. She had given Harry's invisibility cloak back to him after her last foray to the hospital wing. She tiptoed down the stairs to the common room, gazed longingly at the portrait hole, and finally went out.

The Fat Lady recognized her.

"It's a bit late to visit your boyfriend, don't you think?" she asked with a yawn.

"I overslept," Hermione lied. "He's probably not waiting for me anymore, but I have to check."

"Of course you do. Run along," the Fat Lady said with a tired wave.

Hermione went, treading an unhurried path to her secret room, heavy with the knowledge that Draco would be fast asleep at this hour. He most likely despised her now, anyway, after the way she'd been treating him.

She stopped at the long row of windows and looked out. It was snowing. Huge flakes obscured everything outside. It would have been dark in the hallway but for the odd reflective quality of snow clouds that picked up the lights of Hogwarts and handed them back as a strange, dim glow.

Hermione breathed on the frosted glass, obscuring a pane. She lifted a hand and drew on the glass as a child would. An H. And then a heart. And then a D. She sighed. A foolish dream. She felt like crying, but she'd done enough of that in her bed at night to fill the lake.

"Finally emerged from your exile?" a voice asked behind her, nearly startling her out of her skin. She moaned and pressed her forehead against the glass, welcoming the icy coldness to cool the heat that suddenly filled her.

"Please go away," she whispered.

Draco snorted. "Not on your life. I've been staking out this corridor for four nights in a row. I've been living on twenty minutes of sleep every night. As you might well imagine, I'm _not_ in a very good mood."

"Well, that makes two of us," she retorted.

He spun her around to face him.

"You can't avoid me forever."

"I can try."

"Are you telling me you never want to see me again?"

"Isn't it obvious? And you say Ron is thick."

"Don't compare me to Weasley," Draco warned. "I already told you you're a horrible liar."

"I'm not lying!" Hermione burst out. "I never want to see you again!" Her hands clenched into fists. "Never! Do you understand?"

"No. I don't understand. Tell me why."

His words were perfectly calm. She fought their lulling effects.

"You know why. Because you don't love me. Because you _can't_ love me and I _can't_ love you and this whole thing we started has turned into a fiasco that I can't control. I need to be free of you! Can't you see that? I need to be free!" She stepped forward so he could see the tears that now sparkled in her eyes. She reached out and gripped his Slytherin cloak in desperate hands. It was difficult to be so close to him, to look into his fathomless eyes and utter her next words, but she had to. "Please, Draco, you have to let me go. Promise you'll never see me again. Promise me!"

He reached up and placed his hands over her clenched fists and gripped them tightly.

"Who ever said I don't love you?" he asked softly.

It was the last thing she expected to hear from him. Her tears released from the floodgates and he released one hand to tip her lips up to meet his. She clung to him helplessly, unable to even formulate a response to his question. He kissed her searingly until she struggled to breathe. He finally released her mouth long enough to ask her a question.

"Do you still want me to leave you?"

"Yes."

He kissed her again, bruising her lips, punishing her, and his tongue forced its way in to caress the roof of her mouth, sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body. His hands slid over her back from shoulder blades to spine, pressing her tightly against him. Her senses reeled and her heart pounded like a frightened rabbit. His lips left hers and made a burning path down her neck to the hollow of her collarbone. His tongue caressed it gently. She shuddered and inhaled sharply, trying to fight the sudden onrush of desire.

"Do you still want me to leave you?" he asked again.

She whimpered, unwilling to answer. His mouth left her collarbone and moved lower. She suddenly knew he wouldn't stop until he had the truth.

"No, damn you! I don't want you to leave me. Not now and not _ever_! Are you satisfied?" she gasped out.

Draco's grip on her relaxed slightly. His lips still hovered at the neckline of her nightgown. He bit one of the buttons off, raised his head, and poinked it over her shoulder before he looked at her wickedly through shining silver eyes.

"No, I'm not quite satisfied," he said and kissed her again. She was drowning instantly and found that she no longer cared. When he was this close to her, doing what he was to her, she couldn't think clearly. All she could do was _feel_ and what she felt now… was so incredibly good… She would worry tomorrow, she decided. Tonight she would be with Draco and let everything else be damned. He was her tormentor and she welcomed him.

"I want to dance with you," he said against her ear. She stared at him in a fair daze of bewilderment, particularly since he had bitten off two more buttons from her gown and she rather expected him to keep going. She glanced toward the room with the phonograph.

"No. Here," he said and began to sing. His voice was like magic and he pulled her into a sweet, languorous dance while the snow fell in sparkling glitter outside. He remembered every word of Bon Jovi's "I'd Die for You" and sang it flawlessly while they danced. If she thought she had loved him before, the feeling was nothing compared to how she felt when he finished. She couldn't seem to stop the tears from falling, now that she admitted to herself that she didn't want to live without him.

He stopped and brushed the tears away from her cheeks with his thumbs.

"I don't know how it happened, but I do love you," he said and kissed her tenderly.

Pansy Parkinson watched them from the shadows at the end of the corridor. Tears of rage stung her eyes and her fingernails dug into her palms until she thought they would bleed.

She had been watching Draco closely since the incident at the Quidditch match. She had been relieved when Hermione had not appeared in the hospital wing. It had given her immense satisfaction to see Hermione avoiding Draco once he returned to classes, although her blood boiled at the remembrance of Draco's distress. He had acted like a man possessed. He had paced the common room floor constantly and treated Crabbe and Goyle more viciously than usual, railing at them for every perceived annoyance. Pansy he had nearly ignored completely.

Each night since his recovery he had disappeared, prompting her to follow him. She had been beyond relieved to find him wandering the halls alone and she had wondered how many nights he planned to continue his vigil.

Until tonight when her worst fears had been realized. She watched them dance, still not believing her eyes. Draco was _singing_. She'd never had the slightest inkling that he could sing, much less that he _would_. She wanted to hurt them both. She wanted to take her wand and _Crucio_ them until they couldn't move, until they begged her for mercy.

It wouldn't be enough. She vowed revenge. And then suddenly she knew how to get it.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

When he finished the song, he placed an arm across her shoulders and pulled her close to his side.

"Let's take a walk," he suggested. "You look a bit flushed."

"Do I?" she asked breathlessly. "Is that why I feel I might _faint_ at any moment?"

Draco chuckled as they walked the length of the hall.

"Really? Hermione Granger, pride of Gryffindor, defender of the Boy Who Lived, savior of the Sorcerer's Stone, brought down by a lowly Slytherin?"

"Not lowly," she denied. "Never that."

"You once thought I was lower than a sewer rat."

"You took great pains to act like one!" she countered. He grimaced.

"I was pretty bad, wasn't I?"

"You were very bad," she admitted.

"But you love me when I'm bad."

"I love you all the time. But especially when you're _good_."

He led her up the first flight of stairs that would take them to his garden.

"I'm seldom good."

"You're good when you're with me," she said decisively.

The conversation disturbed him, so he stopped talking and they entered the frozen garden. The snow fell around them like confetti and clung to Hermione's hair. It stuck on their eyelashes as they walked to the center of the garden. Most of the bushes were leafless and sparkled like crystal with a bright sheen of ice. Snow coated the remainder of the plants like a blanket and lay on the bench in a deep, pristine pile.

"It's so beautiful," she said in delight. Draco walked forward and plucked a twig from a nearby rosebush. He tugged out his wand and tapped the twig with it while he whispered an incantation. The twig suddenly sprouted leaves and the tip swelled into a thick bud before it burst into bloom as a perfect, red rose. He grinned and presented it to her with a formal bow.

She looked up at him and tears shone in her eyes.

"You must stop making me cry," she whispered.

"I don't want you to cry."

She took the rose he offered and smiled softly.

"Tears of joy are not so bad."

She put her arms around his neck and kissed him. Draco tasted snow crystals on her icy lips and suddenly felt elated. He picked her up and spun her in a dizzying circle. She threw her head back and laughed in abandon.

Draco thrilled to hear it. He had been utterly miserable for the past four days, a nadir reached after a long descent from his shocked amazement at discovering she loved him. He had pondered her words for a long, long time and had been even more astonished to find that she expected no acknowledgement of her love. She had simply given it to him and let him do with it what he would.

Of course, he had immediately screwed up and used it against her in a moment of frustration. He hadn't blamed her for never wanting to see him again. He still couldn't believe she was here now, looking at him like he was worthy of her love. He sighed.

"We should go. Just tell me I'll see you tomorrow. And not from a distance as you run away from me."

She smiled and touched his cheek gently.

"No more running," she said.

They left the garden and walked down the stairs. Draco stopped near the bottom when light suddenly filled the stairwell. He blinked for a moment until his eyes adjusted. Even before his vision cleared he had a horrible sinking feeling. It was validated by the sight that met his eyes.

A large group of Slytherins were arrayed at the bottom of the stairs. Montague. Nott. Crabbe and Goyle. Pucey. Pansy Parkinson, of course. And Blaise Zabini.

Draco gripped Hermione's hand tightly and descended one step in front of her, as if to shield her from their malice.

"Well, well. Draco Malfoy consorting with a mudblood," said Montague coldly. "Sinking a bit low to find a piece of ass, aren't you Draco?"

The others snickered, although both Crabbe and Goyle hushed the instant Draco's icy stare touched them.

"What do you want?" Draco demanded. He was heartily glad his wand was still gripped in his right hand. He felt Hermione move slightly behind him. Her hand was suddenly damp with sweat. Or perhaps it was his own.

"Now, Draco," said Blaise. "We're your friends. We're her to make sure you don't do anything stupid. Although, from the look of things we may be too late, eh? You don't actually _care_ about the nasty little mudblood, do you? You're just making her think you do before you crush her little heart into dust, right?"

Blaise wasn't the worst of them. He was offering Draco a way out, however slim. Giving him a chance. Montague chuckled coldly.

"Your father's going to have ruddy heart failure over this, Malfoy. You're like to kill him. Think of your poor mum."

Hermione stepped out to stand beside Draco. In her left hand, she held the rose. And her wand.

"Leave him alone," she said flatly.

"Shut up, mudblood," Montague hissed venomously. "This ain't about you. We'll deal with you, later."

"Yes," Pansy snarled and stepped forward. "We'll teach you to crawl back to the mud where you belong! Draco is a pureblood! How dare you taint him with your filth?! You think you're better than we are because you can read a spell book and brew a potion. Which did you use to snare Draco?"

Hermione smiled at her coldly.

"Just because _you_ would resort to potions and spells to trap a man doesn't give you the right to apply your lack of morals to _me_. Draco's will is his own, as are his choices."

She released his hand and stepped away from him. In the process, she gave him a quick glance of understanding to let him know that she would accept his decision, even if he chose to cast her down and rejoin the Slytherin ranks. Like Blaise, she offered him a way out. She was setting him free. His jaw tightened.

"What's it going to be, Malfoy?" Montague taunted.

Pansy suddenly shrieked in rage and leveled her wand at Hermione, perhaps fearing Draco's response.

"_Crucio_!" she screamed. Draco did not hear Hermione speak, but she flicked her wand in Pansy's direction and the jet of light from Pansy's wand reflected back and enveloped the Slytherin girl. She shrieked again, in pain this time, and fell to the floor.

"_Expelliarmus_!" Hermione said and Pansy's wand skittered across the stone floor out of reach. Hermione turned to the others. "Who's next?"

The Slytherins shifted uncomfortably and Crabbe and Goyle edged backward toward the stairs.

Draco chuckled.

"Think you can _Obliviate_ them all?" he asked her. His voice carried in the close quarters.

"No," Hermione replied. "But I can get Montague." She took two steps down. Taking the battle to them. Draco felt a sudden shock of pride. His brave Gryffindor.

"Get lost, Montague. Nott. Pucey. This is none of your affair," Draco said tiredly. He didn't want to fight them. He wanted them to go away.

"Your affair concerns us all when you lower yourself to trifle with a damned mudblood!" Nott yelled. "You're a fucking Malfoy! Act like one!"

Draco felt a stirring of rage.

"What the hell would you know about being a Malfoy, Nott? You know nothing about us except what my pure and perfect family allows you to see on rare occasions! I'm sure I could tell you stories about the Malfoys that would curl even _your_ hair, Montague." He walked slowly down the steps to stand next to Hermione.

"We all have some nasty little skeletons in our closets, don't we, Pucey? In fact, I have a suspicion that our lovely family histories made us perfect for Slytherin in the first place. They say ambition is the primary trait. I say it is ambition to escape the bloody chains foisted on us by our precious pureblood families. We all have to act a certain way, speak a certain way, and _think_ a certain way. We don't dare rock the bloody boat, do we? We don't _dare_ step a toe out of line and bring shame to the family name, do we?"

Montague's face flamed. Draco pressed on angrily.

"I know the chains you perfect purebloods wear. Montague. You're a bloody brute, just like your father. He nearly beat your mother to death last year and I'm sure he's taken his fists to you a time or two, eh?"

"That's a bloody lie!" Montague roared and raised his wand at Draco threateningly. Hermione raised hers in response and Montague paled.

"Is it?" Draco asked. "And you, Nott. Your father spends so much time sucking up to my father that I do believe I see him more than you."

Nott's eyes glittered.

"And Pucey—your family is scrambling so hard to regain the glory of their Death Eater days when they could torture people for fun… Who do they torture now, Pucey? Cruelty doesn't just go away, does it?"

"Shut up, Malfoy," Blaise said warningly.

"And little Pansy. We know all about the skeletons in _your_ family closet, don't we?"

Pansy, still on the floor, pulled her knees up to her chest and buried her face in her arms.

"_Stop it_, _Draco_," Blaise said.

"You lot came to _me_, remember?"

"This is not about us!" Montague yelled.

"Of course it is," Draco said with a short laugh. "Every one of you is here to serve your own interests. One of your numbers has turned traitor. You don't want to have to explain that. One of your _friends_ has gone against the Slytherin credo! How will you ever hold your head up? They might think… bloody hell! They might think it could happen to _you_! How would you ever overcome the _shame_?"

Montague's jaw worked. He fairly itched to use his wand.

"What do you expect us to do, then?" he snarled. "Embrace your little mudblood girlfriend? Invite her to the common room for tea?"

Nott laughed unpleasantly.

"Not bloody likely," Pucey snarled.

"I don't expect you to do anything," Draco said. "Except think for yourselves, for once. We'll be out of this school in two years. Do you plan to be puppets of your families forever? Will you always let them think for you?" He took another step down. "Maybe our families will be there for us and maybe they won't. It might be more important that we're there for each other. In that way, I think the Gryffindors have it a bit easier than we do. They care about each other and they aren't afraid to show it."

Montague sneered. "Yes, let's all lope about arm in arm the way the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs do. Maybe we don't care about each other. _You_ sure as hell don't care about us!"

Draco took another step toward Montague. He stood directly before him and Montague's wand brushed Draco's robe.

"Actually, I do care about you, David. You've always had my back on the Quidditch team and I think you're a fabulous Chaser. You could go pro after school."

Montague goggled at him like he'd grown two heads. Draco walked past him into the midst of his old friends.

"Crabbe, Goyle. You've always been there beside me, no matter the odds. I know I've made you do horrid things and never actually thanked you for any of it. I want you to know that I appreciate you both. You've been bloody good friends to me."

Crabbe and Goyle both flushed and looked at each other sheepishly. Draco turned to Blaise.

"Zabini. Hell, everyone likes you. Girls from all four houses follow you around and the blokes think you're all right. So do I, actually."

Draco turned his back and went to Nott. He grabbed him by the shoulders.

"Theo, you've always done your own thing. You never go along with the crowd and usually seem to be two steps ahead of the rest of us. I'm not even sure what you're doing here, since you're the least likely to follow a mob. I figure you'll leave Hogwarts and we'll never see you again. You'll go to bloody Bermuda or Cartagena or Singapore, I suppose. I'll rather miss seeing you at my house during the summer."

Nott looked away.

Draco moved on to Pansy. He knelt beside her and touched her arm gently.

"Pansy. I never meant to hurt you. I took you for granted and used you and I can only say I'm sorry. I don't blame you if you hate me."

She raised her head and looked at him miserably.

"I could never hate you," she mumbled. "I wish I could. It would be easier." She buried her head again and Draco got to his feet. He walked back up the steps to Hermione.

"Pucey, I wish I could say I care about you, too, but I've always thought you were an obnoxious git and I know you despise me, so let's just leave it at that, eh?"

Blaise actually laughed. Pucey glared, but said nothing. Draco sighed.

"I've said my piece. You can all do what you will. I've made my decision, even though I know the consequences. You are my friends and you can make this road more difficult for me, or you can stand beside me and maybe, just maybe, make it a bit easier. It's up to you."

With that he took Hermione's hand, led her through the Slytherin crowd and away. None of them followed.

Epilogue

Harry's robe was on fire. He patted out the flames and glared at Malfoy, who sat with Hermione's head cradled on his shoulder. She recited from a scroll in her hands that described complicated ingredients for a potion they would be concocting for Snape's class. Harry, Ron, and Draco ignored her, as usual. Malfoy's wand rested loosely under his hand, but he was six feet away. Surely, he couldn't have set Harry's robe on fire from that distance. Harry turned his gaze to Ron, who still wore the rather dazed grin he'd been carrying on his face for a week. Next to him sat Pansy Parkinson, who had astonishingly announced her undying love for him and kissed him in front of everyone after Herbology a week ago, and now spent every waking moment clinging to Ron's hand.

Bizarre though it was, it had squelched Ron's constant haranguing of Hermione in regards to Draco. Harry still wasn't comfortable with _that_ relationship, but it was obvious Malfoy was passionately in love with her. The Slytherins had, strangely, banded together in a united front on the morning Draco appeared with Hermione in tow. Gossip had abounded, of course, but it was in covert whispers only. No one wanted to mess with an enraged crowd of Slytherins, backed by Harry Potter, who had no comment on the relationship. The general consensus was that Draco was using Hermione and would unveil his secret plot in due time. Harry never entirely discounted the theory and kept his eyes on Malfoy at all times.

Draco didn't help matters by snidely referring to "the plot" as often as possible.

"Going to the library to see Hermione," he would say. "Got to keep her twisted around my little finger so she'll be blind to my machinations, you know." Or: "There's Hermione. Look how happy she is. All according to The Plan, of course."

Harry poked the cinders that smoldered on his robe with the end of his wand and shot a sideways glance at Draco, who looked up from nibbling at Hermione's ear long enough to give Harry a conspiratorial wink.

Bloody git. Harry sighed in frustration. It was damned uncomfortable hanging around with Ron and Hermione these days, now that their Slytherin pets were in constant attendance. Maybe Harry should find himself a Slytherin. He looked over at the Slytherin group lounging by the lake nearby. Millicent Bulstrode? Harry shuddered. The most eye-catching one in the group was Blaise Zabini, and he was definitely not Harry's type. Harry looked back to the lake and saw an attractive girl walk by. She smiled coyly and waved at him.

He rubbed his eyes for a moment. Bloody hell, it was Ginny Weasley! When did she grow up and turn into that… that… woman? Harry cleared his throat.

"Going for a walk," he said casually. The others made noncommittal noises and Harry knew he'd be sorely missed.

"Wait up, Ginny!" he called.

Who needed a Slytherin?


End file.
